Miles from Nowhere

Among many other lessons, children are powerful teachers about what it means to be in a relationship with another person. It means that you won't always get your way. It means that sometimes their mood will bring you down, or yours will bring them down; it also means that sometimes their mood will bring you up, or yours will bring them up.

Simply put, it means that sometimes it will make it feel easier to be on this earth, and at other times it will make it feel harder. And this is true with almost all relationships. But one thing that feels different to me about children is that even at its hardest and most uncomfortable, having children always makes life more worthwhile, and this is something to fall back on during the hard times. Having children is the first job I remember wanting as a little girl, and raising them feels like the most important job I'll ever have. I love my children dearly, and feel lucky to be able to enjoy them most of the time, but even when the joy isn't at the surface, I never lose sight of pure goodness of the relationship and its mutual benefit for parent and child.

Not so for me with romantic relationships. In these I find that even in my current relationship, where the goodness and the joy are much closer to the surface, that I go through times of profound doubt about the benefit to myself and to my mate about being in a relationship. I don't feel the certainty I feel in my relationship with my children, though I do seek it in ways that society suggests one can find certainty in a romantic relationship: desire to cohabitate, to marry. Meeting with reluctance on those fronts, especially as deeply into a relationship as I'm in now, makes me feel really uncomfortable and filled with doubt about its "rightness" -- something I never, ever question in my relationship with my kids.

It makes me wonder what would happen if I just chose not to doubt its rightness, rejecting the need for certainty and the fear that arises when it can't be found. I try to do that, but inevitably, when I get too uncomfortable or too scared, I listen to the doubts and they take me further away, to a safer, less vulnerable place. A place without the same lows, yes, but also without the same highs. And I really think that's the primary difference between loving a child and loving someone romantically -- I'm not afraid to love with my whole heart when it comes to my kids. Fear doesn't drive my decisions in that role in the same way that I sometimes allow it to in my lovelife.

I read someplace once that the only people deserving of unconditional love are children. And I get that. If this weren't true, those who were abused by their mates wouldn't have a reason to leave, even in the wake of being mistreated. And so another complicating factor, apart from the guardedness that comes from wanting to protect yourself -- or maybe part and parcel of it --  is ensuring that a relationship with another adult has agreed upon values and expectations that allow for the creation of boundaries within which both partners feel safe and capable of getting their needs met.

Given this, I think these are my quests in the coming year: to choose love -- for myself, for my children, for my partner -- but also to work on coming up with those agreed upon values and expectations and boundaries that will help bring a measure of stability -- and maybe equally importantly -- to continue to work with being ok with the uncertainty and the impermanence of the human condition.

It's unusual, I know, for me to blog on for so long without getting to the song choice, so without further ado...

Soon after my daughter got back in the car after a fun-filled day of downhill skiing with my boyfriend a couple of hours north of Madison, she started to complain about having to ride in the car. Granted, she was more frustrated with this than usual because a broken DVD player meant not being able to watch her beloved Garfield.

Upon seeing a mileage sign on the side of the highway saying 112 miles to Madison, she remarked: "This sucks. We're 112 miles from nowhere and I've got nothing to do."

And the irony of the statement struck me as Cat Stevens voice began to sing inside my head:

Miles from nowhere
I guess I'll take my time
Oh yeah, to reach there

Look up at the mountain
I have to climb
Oh yeah, to reach there

And of course, the thing that is so hard to understand as a child, maybe because it's pretty damn hard for adults to understand it sometimes, too, is that it's not about where you're going. It's about where you are. Right now.

Learning to be ok with that, not attaching too much significance to a particular destination or vessel:

Lord my body has been a good friend
But I won't need it when I reach the end

...that's our challenge as human beings, I reckon:

I creep through the valleys
And I grope through the woods
'cause I know when I find it my honey
It's gonna make me feel good

...to realize that it's not all about feeling good. It's about feeling, and being ok with whatever that feeling is:

I love everything
So don't it make you feel sad
'cause I'll drink to you, my baby
I'll think to that, I'll think to that.

Miles from nowhere
Not a soul in sight
Oh yeah, but it's alright

Here's the part where Cat Stevens is grappling with the values and expectations and boundaries bit that I was discussing above -- only he, at least in these lyrics, is choosing the easier, but less rewarding (in my own humble opinion) path of shutting out others:

I have my freedom
I can make my own rules
Oh yeah, the ones that I choose

As for me, I choose to make some of the rules, and to learn, little by little, step by step, that my ability to make room for others' needs and to live by their rules (at least the rules of theirs that I can accept), is ultimately going to lead to a greater freedom than being alone ever could:

Miles from nowhere
I Guess I'll take my time
Oh yeah, to reach there.

I should know. I am a mother.

Eskimo

My new backyard, under 18" of snow!

Having received an absolute dumping of snow the week before Christmas (complete with two snow days!), on Christmas morning I was able to go cross country skiing with my boyfriend.

It was a gorgeous day -- so sunny -- and the snow glistened as we skied. It was absolutely beautiful, and this song was playing inside my head much of the time:

So I look to my eskimo friend

I look to my eskimo friend

I look to my eskimo friend

Never hotter than when he's out enjoying one of his favorite sports, indeed, I looked to my eskimo friend over and over again during our adventure. And then later that day, when my kids came back, I looked to him in a different way.

A way in which he may be less comfortable, but can also be quite joyful -- as fellow witness to the wonder that is my children...

Closing Time

Ever since I posted the last Closing Time entry, I've been feeling like a bit of a traitor. Because although that was the version in my head that day, there's another song by the same title -- this Leonard Cohen song -- that just plain kicks the ass of Semisonic's:

And I swear it happened just like this
A sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss
The gates of love they budged an inch
I can't say much has happened since
But closing time
I swear it happened just like this
A sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss
The gates of love they budged an inch
I can't say much has happened since
But closing time, closing time

I know I've gone on about what a masterful poet my man Leonard is in previous posts, but dang:

I loved you for your beauty
But that doesn't make a fool of me
You were in it for your beauty too
And I loved you for your body
There's a voice that sounds like god to me
Declaring, declaring, declaring that your body's really you
I loved you when our love was blessed
And I love you now there's nothing left
But sorrow and a sense of overtime

I just love the way this man makes sense of love and loss:

And I miss you since the place got wrecked
And I just don't care what happens next
Looks like freedom but it feels like death
It's something in between, I guess
It's closing time
And I miss you since the place got wrecked
By the winds of change and the weeds of sex
Looks like freedom but it feels like death
It's something in between, I guess
It's closing time

Kinda gives the phrase a whole new meaning, doesn't it? And as I step over the precipice of new home ownership on La Crosse Lane this morning, knowing I am making a great move for myself and my family, but not knowing exactly what my family will look like, I'm grateful I've got Leonard Cohen to help me mark this auspicious day...

Picture

I recently read an intriguing article in The New Yorker about Kid Rock, an artist to whom I had never really given much thought or credit. But as presented in the article, here is a man who struggled with his identity, who wanted very much to be part of the movements that appealed to him (namely hip hop), but in the end realized that he could only really truly be himself. Sounds a lot like the rest of us, doesn't it?

One of the songs they mentioned was Picture, a beautiful, twangy duet with Sheryl Crow -- a decidedly un-hip-hop kind of tune:

[Kid Rock]
Livin' my life in a slow hell
Different girl every night at the hotel
I ain't seen the sun shine in 3 damn days
Been fuelin' up on cocaine and whisky
Wish I had a good girl to miss me
Lord I wonder if I'll ever change my ways
I put your picture away
Sat down and cried today
I can't look at you while I'm lyin' next to her
I put your picture away, sat down and cried today
I can't look at you, while I'm lyin next to her

[Sherly Crow]
I called you last night in the hotel
Everyone knows but they wont tell
But their half hearted smiles tell me
Somethin' just ain't right
I been waitin' on you for a long time
Fuelin' up on heartaches and cheap wine
I ain't heard from you in 3 damn nights
I put your picture away
I wonder where you been
I can't look at you while I'm lyin' next to him
I put your picture away
I wonder where you been
I can't look at you while I'm lyin' next to him
I saw ya yesterday with an old friend

[Kid Rock]
It was the same ole same "how have you been"

[Both]
Since you been gone my worlds been dark & grey

[Kid Rock]
You reminded me of brighter days

[Sheryl Crow]
I hoped you were comin' home to stay
I was headed to church

[Kid Rock]
I was off to drink you away

[Both]
I thought about you for a long time
Can't seem to get you off my mind
I can't understand why we're living life this way
I found your picture today
I swear I'll change my ways
I just called to say I want you to come back home
I found your picture today
I swear I'll change my ways
I just called to say I want you to come back home
I just called to say, I love you come back home

And ever since I looked it up on youtube the other night with my boyfriend, it has been floating in and out of my consciousness. It makes me think about a couple of things. One, that the picture that we have of another person is our picture -- it may or may not match up to the picture that person has of himself or herself. Perhaps even more profound is the thought that the picture that people have of themselves sometimes doesn't always match what's really on the inside.

For these reasons, I'm finding it important, like Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow, to do my best to put the picture away. To really, truly, to the best of my ability, see what is really there, both deep inside myself and deep inside the people I love, and from that place, rather than either of our pictures, come together in love...

Happy New Year

This song seemed like an odd choice for my internal ipod to shuffle onto while I was brushing my teeth tonight. After all, it's not New Year's yet. But as I found myself singing these lyrics:

Happy new year

Happy new year

May we all have a vision now and then

Of a world where every neighbour is a friend

Happy new year

Happy new year

May we all have our hopes, our will to try

If we don't we might as well lay down and die

You and I

It began to seem more apropos. You see, tonight is the last night that my kids and I will all sleep in our current home. As a result, we are feeling a mix of excitement and sadness. I found myself consoling my son earlier, and explaining that life is filled with mixed-bags -- when we say goodbye to something or someone, we lose something, and this can be extremely painful. But we also gain something, immediately, and that's space for something new.

Maybe that's what these Swedes are singing about here? Kinda sorta?

Sometimes I see

How the brave new world arrives

And I see how it thrives

In the ashes of our lives

Oh yes, man is a fool

And he thinks he'll be okay

Dragging on, feet of clay

Never knowing he's astray

Keeps on going anyway...

But I think my favorite thing about this song coming to me is the harbinger that this new year in this new house is going to be happy, and it's going to involve lots of new neighbor friends. And so, we welcome this transition to our new space, a home that, among other perks, holds more space for others to enjoy along with us:

Happy new year

Happy new year

May we all have a vision now and then

Of a world where every neighbour is a friend...

Private Dancer

Out in Washington D.C. on a business trip, I had the opportunity to hear Mira Sorvino speak on the subject of human trafficking, something I previously did not know much about. It's apparently a huge problem, and does not just involve bringing foreign people into the United States for sex or labor (which is bad enough), but also Americans being thrust into servitude of various varieties. You can learn more by visiting The Polaris Project.

Although there is a technical distinction between prostitution and sex trafficking (the latter involves no choice, the former a questionable amount of choice about whether to engage in the sex for money trade), the stories she told, particularly about sex trafficking, brought to mind this song:

Well the men come in these places
And the men are all the same
You don't look at their faces
And you don't ask their names
You don't think of them as human
You don't think of them at all
You keep your mind on the money
Keeping your eyes on the wall

I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
I'll do what you want me to do
I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
And any old music will do

I wanna make a million dollars
I wanna live out by the sea
Have a husband and some children
Yeah, I guess I want a family
All the men come in these places
And the men are all the same
You don't look at their faces
And you don't ask their names

I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
I'll do what you want me to do
I'm your private dancer
A dancer for money
And any old music will do

I love Tina Turner, and this song, and although what is described in this song is depressing enough, it barely scratches the surface of the soul excoriating experiences (that's a Mira Sorvino phrase) of the victims of human trafficking. Here's hoping my awareness of the problem can help in some small way to bring an end to it, though I don't yet know how.

Perhaps it is enough for me to continue down the path of setting myself up to offer relief to victims of sexual abuse through yoga and compassionate communication. It definitely feels like there's a link there somewhere...

If You Leave Me Now

Ok, so judging by my internal jukebox, sometimes I'm super strong and sometimes I'm just a sap from the 70s, because this is what I seem to be playing today:

If you leave me now you'll take away the biggest part of me

Ooh ooh ooh no baby please don't go

And if you leave me now you'll take away the very heart of me

Ooh ooh ooh no baby please don't go

Ooh ooh ooh girl I just want you to stay

A love like ours is love that's hard to find

How could we let it slip away?

We've come too far to leave it all behind

How could we end it all this way?

When tomorrow comes then we'll both regret the things we said today

If you leave me now you'll take away the biggest part of me

Ooh ooh ooh no baby please don't go

Ooh girl, just got to have you by my side

Ooh no baby, please don't go

Oh Mama, I just got to have your lovin', yeah

Change a couple of the lyrics -- from girl to guy and Mama to Daddy -- and that's what I'm talkin' about, you super cool dudes with feathered hair from my childhood!

Ok, one more change. I feel like part of what I'm doing right now is trying to be ok with what is. Accept, rather than resist what is happening or not happening.

And although the possibility of losing my boyfriend to his potential migration back East is heartbreaking and terrifying, I can rest assured that it wouldn't involve losing the very heart of me or the biggest part of me. If I didn't know that, deep down, I wouldn't be able to love him with such a fierce abandon in the first place...

Closing Time

With the closing time on my new home drawing nearer, it's not too surprising that this number's been on repeat inside my head recently:

Closing time
Time for you to go out go out into the world
Closing time
Turn the lights up over every boy and every girl
Closing time
One last call for alcohol so finish your whiskey or beer
Closing time
You don't have to go home but you can't stay here

And although the lyrics are not about closing a mortgage loan on a new home, they are about going home, and more specifically, about going home with your person:

I know who I want to take me home.
I know who I want to take me home.
I know who I want to take me home.
Take me home

And although I know who my person is, it's just me moving to my new house, with my kids, at least for now. And that brings up a whole lot of feelings, most of which aren't easy or comfortable. But I'm doing a pretty damn good job, if I do say so myself, of just being in that uncomfortable place, and my boyfriend's doing a pretty damn good job of being there with me.

Plus, that's not all there is to it. There's also the excitement about the new place, including the awesome space to both do yoga myself and practice with and teach others:

Closing time
Time for you to go back to the places you will be from

Sort of a strange lyric, but that's what yoga's all about, really. Getting back to our essence.

And I'm sure not all the sadness is related to man issues, either. Some of it is parting with this sacred space that held me and the kids after I left my marital home. This house has been good to us, and I trust it will be good to the next lucky people who get to call it their home, too:

Closing time
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end...

Dark Side

This song has been playing internally on and off over the last few weeks. This is partly because it's one that gets stuck in my head after I hear it, and partly because the questions posed in this song are some I've been grappling with lately in my romantic relationship:

Oh oh oh, there's a place that I know
It's not pretty there and few have ever gone
If I show it to you now
Will it make you run away?

Or will you stay
Even if it hurts
Even if I try to push you out
Will you return?
And remind me who I really am
Please remind me who I really am

Those are my favorite lyrics, those last two lines, because to me that's the greatest gift love has to offer: a reminder of our own loveliness. I've talked about this is previous posts, and I've mainly been talking about me needing to be reminded of who I really am.

But I'm feeling pretty solid in that now. The old me, when going through a rocky phase of a romantic relationship, would be tempted, and often would, break up with my boyfriend. But I'm not feeling that this time around.

Because like Kelly Clarkson, I know that:

Everybody's got a dark side
Do you love me?
Can you love mine?
Nobody's a picture perfect
But we're worth it
You know that we're worth it
Will you love me?
Even with my dark side?

Like a diamond
From black dust
It's hard to know
What can become
If you give up
So don't give up on me
Please remind me who I really am

I'm not giving up, and I'm not running away, either:

Don't run away
Don't run away
Just tell me that you will stay
Promise me you will stay
Don't run away
Don't run away
Just promise me you will stay
Promise me you will stay

Because as frustrating as this space we're in can be sometimes, I have to believe in the power of love to help make us into the people we want to be, the people we are deep inside. How could I believe otherwise? It's through the power of love that I know who I really am, and now I get to focus on bringing it to the rest of the world, for which I am extremely grateful...

Apologize

Up early again this morning, I decided to do a guided meditation, and as I looked through the selection in iTunes, my cursor settled over Forgiveness meditation. I didn't have a strong feeling about what needed to be forgiven, but I decided to go with it anyway. Sometimes these meditations are cathartic; sometimes I start to cry the minute he starts talking. This wasn't like that. It was almost as if I kept myself slightly removed from it, because I remember thinking during the meditation about the choice that forgiveness presents us with. We don't have to do it, no one is going to force us to either ask for or extend forgiveness (they could try, but since it has to come from the heart, it can't be forced). But we can choose it. For ourselves.

Almost immediately after the guided meditation ended, I heard, in my head, these lyrics:

It's too late to apologize, it's too late

I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late

Which I found really interesting, because the introduction to the meditation specifically says that it is never too late, as he puts it, to do the work of the heart: forgiveness. But it is work:

I'm holding on your rope
Got me ten feet off the ground
And I'm hearing what you say
But I just can't make a sound

You tell me that you need me
Then you go and cut me down, but wait
You tell me that you're sorry
Didn't think I'd turn around and say

That it's too late to apologize, it's too late
I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late

And maybe the reason our culture suggests, in this song and elsewhere, that sometimes it is too late to apologize, is because that's easier -- it lets us off the hook:

I'd take another chance, take a fall
Take a shot for you
And I need you like a heart needs a beat
But that's nothing new, yeah yeah

I loved you with a fire red, now it's turning blue
And you say sorry like the angel
Heaven let me think was you
But I'm afraid

Awww yeah, there it is, in that last lyric. That's what keeps us from forgiving. Fear.

I remember when I first started to consciously work with my fear. Wise people told me two things that have stuck with me, nuggets that continue to guide me today:

One of them is that the antidote to fear is faith. Faith in something, anything, it doesn't have to be God. For me it is faith in goodness. Faith in the power of love. Faith in the force.

And the other is that we only ever operate from two basic places: fear and love. When we choose one, whether consciously or not, we block the other. I often ask myself, especially when I feel myself harden, "am I operating from fear or am I operating from love?"

Because operating consciously, I'll always choose love...

I Dreamed a Dream

I woke up before my alarm today, which I reckon is a good sign. The last few days I've been feeling like I'm fighting off some germs, but I think I've finally managed to beat it.

I also woke up with a song in my head, which is an even better sign. And though I don't often do this, this morning I found myself giving voice to the lyrics in my head, lyrics from (one of) the greatest musical(s) of all time:

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high
And life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving
Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted

What an incredible song. I'm not an actress blessed with an incredible voice, like Lea Salonga, Ruthie Henshall, or Anne Hathaway. And I'm not a big British woman with a big voice like Susan Boyle, part of which I am grateful. But it is important to belt out a song every so often, no matter the sound, and I'm going to try to unleash mine more often going forward.

I'm also grateful that I know that love never dies, and I know God is forgiving. And although I've experienced the tigers coming at night:

But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dream to shame

I've also been fortunate to heal those wounds, release that shame and regain that hope. And like Fantine in the play/movie, I've had the good fortune to experience the endless wonder of a great love, and the dream of such a love sticking around is still very much alive for me:

He slept a summer by my side
He filled my days with endless wonder
He took my childhood in his stride
But he was gone when autumn came

And still I dream he'll come to me
That we will live the years together
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather

The year that I spent in England (91-92), I saw Les Mis in London, and then I saw it again, and I listened to the soundtrack almost constantly. I remember belting out this last verse, in particular:

I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.

At that point in my life, though I wasn't at death's door like Fantine is, I was heavy with a sadness I didn't understand and didn't have the strength to look at. (I was also heavy with beer and chips, but that's not unrelated to the sadness.)

I think maybe this song came to me this morning, at least in part, because the dream I'm dreaming now is that I will be able to help others face the tigers and weather the storms that life so often brings, allowing them to replace that fear with both the dream and the endless wonder of a great love...

Believe

Many things about this song bug me, but I have to admit that it was well-placed in an episode of Brothers and Sisters (my new Netflix/TV candy) where one of the characters was coping with being newly divorced:

No matter how hard I try
You keep pushing me aside
And I can't break through
There's no talking to you
So sad that you're leaving
Takes time to believe it
But after all is said and done
You're going to be the lonely one, Ohh Oh

Do you believe in life after love
I can feel something inside me say
I really don't think you're strong enough,
Now
Do you believe in life after love
I can feel something inside me say
I really don't think you're strong enough,
Now

Thinking back to that time in my own life, there was a part of me that knew I was strong enough -- otherwise I wouldn't have been able to leave in the first place -- but man, particularly over the holidays those first couple of years, there were definitely times I didn't know whether I could survive:

What am I supposed to do
Sit around and wait for you
And I can't do that
There's no turning back
I need time to move on
I need love to feel strong
'Cause I've had time to think it through
And maybe I'm too good for you Ohh Oh

Over the last few days, with the holidays in full swing again, I've been feeling so much gratitude about getting to a place of peace about my divorce. I'm dedicating this last verse to all those people who are still in search of that peace, or who may not even believe, on some level, that it is possible:

But I know that I'll get through this
'Cause I know that I am strong
I don't need you anymore
Oh I don't need you anymore I don't need you anymore
No I don't need you anymore...

Heroes

Over the last few days, I've spent more time alone than I have in a while, which has been interesting and maybe useful, if not ideal, under the circumstances.

But yesterday after a morning at the climbing gym, my boyfriend and I took in an afternoon flick, The Perks of Being a Wallflower. I was excited to see it because it was being billed as "as good as the best John Hughes in his day" and I was a huge fan of movies like Sixteen Candles and The Breakfast Club.

It didn't disappoint. It was cute, had a great soundtrack, and hit close to home for both my boyfriend and I, for different reasons. It carried a powerful message about connection, and the importance of connection in keeping us sane, especially those of us who have experienced traumatic episodes, whether in childhood or adulthood.

The trauma that Charlie (the movie's hero) experienced as a child was not unlike the trauma that I experienced in my own childhood, the kind of trauma that people get really uncomfortable talking about or even hearing about. And the fear he felt years later when he began having feelings for someone of the opposite sex was hauntingly familiar. Watching him driven almost to the point of madness, I knew on a deeper level than I have before that I had to do something to help kids (and grown-ups) who experienced what Charlie and I experienced.

The only problem is, I'm not sure how. I've thought about (and started) writing a book, and I've thought about seeing people for private yoga sessions and helping them that way, but I'm not sure how I advertise or look for victims of sexual abuse who want help with healing and letting go. So I'm putting it out there here, in the blogosphere, and setting the intention that in some way, my writing and work with others will accomplish the lofty goal expressed in the last two lines of this fabulous song:

I
I will be king
And you
You will be queen
Though nothing will
Drive them away
We can beat them
Just for one day
We can be Heroes
Just for one day

And you
You can be mean
And I
I'll drink all the time
'Cause we're lovers
And that is a fact
Yes we're lovers
And that is that

Though nothing
Will keep us together
We could steal time
Just for one day
We can be Heroes
For ever and ever
What d'you say

I
I wish you could swim
Like the dolphins
Like dolphins can swim
Though nothing
Will keep us together
We can beat them
For ever and ever
Oh we can be Heroes
Just for one day

I
I will be king
And you
You will be queen
Though nothing
Will drive them away
We can be Heroes
Just for one day
We can be us
Just for one day

I
I can remember
Standing
By the wall
And the guns
Shot above our heads
And we kissed
As though nothing could fall
And the shame
Was on the other side
Oh we can beat them
For ever and ever
Then we can be Heroes
Just for one day

We can be Heroes
We can be Heroes
We can be Heroes
Just for one day
We can be Heroes
We're nothing
And nothing will help us
Maybe we're lying
Then you better not stay
But we could be safer
Just for one day

Landlocked blues

On this morning of thanksgiving, I am grateful for a lot of things -- my children, friends and family -- and I'm also grateful for this blog. Because it's times like this, when I feel overall pretty solid, but things aren't quite going the way I thought they'd go, or hoped they'd go, that music and writing are such a powerful balm for my spirit.

Up early this morning, I decided to put the ipod on shuffle and see what came up. And it was this sweetly sad song that most got under my skin:

If you walk away, I’ll walk away

First tell me which road you will take

I don’t want to risk our paths crossing some day

So you walk that way, I’ll walk this way

You see, last night, instead of having a pre-thanksgiving evening out with my man as planned, I ended up coming home alone after yoga. After getting some sleep, I'm trying to sort through the series of misunderstandings and emotional triggers on both of our ends that led to us walking away from each other last night, and I don't entirely get it, but I think this verse provides some insight:

A good woman will pick you apart

A box full of suggestions for your possible heart

But you may be offended and you may be afraid

But don’t walk away, don’t walk away

I sure hope he doesn't walk away for too long, and if he does, I hope he comes back with a clearer picture of what he wants and needs. It's hard for me to worry too much about it, because I've worked so damn hard to get to a place where I can hear my body and my heart and trust what they are telling me. And they're telling me to keep loving him, keep reflecting back his inherent goodness, and have faith that a love this powerful and this good can't be wrong...

Bridge Over Troubled Water

I got the news tonight that the sellers had countered my offer to buy the house I blogged about a few days ago. Their counter requests that I obtain a bridge loan so that I can remove the contingency of the sale of my current home from my offer.

This is the song that came to mind:

When you're weary
Feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all

I'm on your side
When times get rough
And friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

Here's hoping that Johnson Bank can be a bridge over the troubled water of trying to buy a bigger house by myself, on one income, cuz this silver girl's ready to sail on by:

Sail on Silver Girl,
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way

See how they shine
If you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind

Time and Time Again

My inner ipod was shuffling on the home theme this afternoon when I found myself singing these lyrics from this tune:

So when are you coming home, sweet angel?

Which is apropos because my boyfriend went to Brown County, Indiana this weekend on a mountain biking and camping trip, and today he's spending the majority of his waking hours driving back while we anxiously await him.

The rest of the song doesn't super fit -- it's kinda depressing and I'm feeling very up. So maybe I'll just close with these road trip like lyrics:

I wish I was travelin' on a freeway

Beneath this graveyard western sky.

I'm gonna set fire to this city

And out in the desert, yeah, we're gonna ride.

Time and time again...

Home

The concept of home has been a recurring theme lately, in more ways than one. I've been contemplating whether to remodel my house or move, because this house just isn't quite enough space for four of us, and it doesn't feel like the right space for me anymore, anyway.

I looked into a basement remodel, but in the last few days I've been leaning toward moving, and today I found what I hope will be our next home. It's absolutely perfect, and I'm going to put in an offer on it tomorrow. My realtor doesn't think my bid will be competitive because it'll be contingent on the sale of my current house, but it sure feels right so I'm going to put it out there and see what happens.

Home is also one of the themes in the book I'm currently reading aloud to my daughter, Homecoming. The last section we read included a scene where one of the characters reads a tombstone that says something basically equating death with coming home. The character didn't appreciate that definition of home, and it didn't work for my daughter and I either.

For me, home is a feeling: a feeling I rarely had in my childhood home; had more of sense of it but still fleetingly in my marital home; a feeling I am lucky enough to have now every time I curl up with one of my three loved ones in my current home.

And finally, my boyfriend was talking last week about being homesick. I totally get it. He misses the mountains, he misses his friends, he misses his favorite breakfast burrito. I try to be as understanding as I can, but I can't help but hoping rather desperately that he decides that his home is with me, and as long as the kids are little, that's likely to be in the Midwest. After that, I'm game to move to a place that feels more like home to him.

The other day when he was really wrestling with these feelings, we heard this song on the radio, and found that it fits the situation almost perfectly:

Hold on, to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave is stringing us along
Just know you're not alone
Cause I'm going to make this place your home

Settle down, it'll all be clear
Don't pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you're not alone
Cause I'm going to make this place your home

Settle down, it'll all be clear
Don't pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you're not alone
Cause I'm going to make this place your home

I did say almost perfectly, didn't I? Because although he knows he's not alone here, I can offer, but I can't make this place his home. If that's going to happen, he has to choose to do that himself. 

Don't Worry Be Happy

Cruising out to Stingray City on board the Beauty II

This is a belated post -- it has now been over a week since my daughter and I returned from Grand Cayman, but I just didn't manage to get this up here in the post-vacation frenzy.

I've never much liked this song, but I picked it to mark our trip for a couple of reasons. One, it's got an island sound -- so it's the kind of song that's more likely to pop into my head or be played on the radio -- when I'm in the tropics:

Here's a little song I wrote,
You might want to sing it note for note,
Don't worry, be happy

The other reason I picked this song is that on the last day, my daughter and I visited a turtle farm, and when we heard there was a saltwater lagoon where we could snorkel if we upgraded our tickets, we jumped at the chance. I'd had the experience of swimming with sea turtles before, but my daughter hadn't, and plus, from the number of turtles they had at the farm, I thought we'd be swimming with not just one majestic creature, as I'd done in the wild, but many. With that picture in mind, imagine my disappointment when the only turtles in the saltwater lagoon were three babies, no larger than a small fish. I mean it was still cool, especially for my daughter, but it just wasn't what I expected.

Look really closely, and you'll see one of the tiny turtles I'm talking about!

After we got done snorkeling, I asked another couple who'd just come out of the water if they too felt disappointed. The woman, who was German, said to me: "No. I learned a long time ago: Expect disappointment and you will always be happy."

I had (or maybe still have) trouble wrapping my brain around that. It seems pretty grim, but then again, she was the happy one walking out of the lagoon, I was the one wishing I'd had a different experience. There must be something to it?  I told my boyfriend about it when we got home and he said "I don't think that'd work too well for me." I feel the same way. But I wonder if there's a way to incorporate a part of her attitude without it seeming too negative.

Here's what Bobby suggests:

In every life we have some trouble,
When you worry you make it double
Don't worry, be happy

I guess he means disappointments will come; it's inevitable. Just don't let them bother you. I think that's a lot different, a lot more sage advice than expecting to be disappointed all the time.

In the end, I didn't let it bother me too much. My daughter's excitement over the little turtles (and the fish) was enough to make it her favorite part of the trip -- and this trip had a lot of exciting moments swimming with sea creatures, including dolphins and stingrays.

My favorite by far were the stingrays:

She didn't like them so much, but that's ok. I reckon sometimes it's easy to take this song's advice and sometimes, for whatever set of reasons that definitely include our expectations, it just isn't:

Don't worry, be happy

Land of Hope and Dreams

This morning in Madison, Bruce Springsteen warmed up the crowd for one last rally from President Obama preceding tomorrow's election. I thought about making my way downtown to see if I could at least hear the boss's voice fill the air outside the Capitol building in which I expend so much of my time and energy, but I decided not to go.

You see, I woke up this morning feeling drained, and I realized that the best thing for me to do was to take the morning to care for myself so that I could regain the energy to care for my loved ones. Probably the right decision, though a part of me would have liked to be there.

I've always loved Bruce Springsteen, but I gained a new appreciation of him recently when I read this article in the New Yorker. It seems that the Boss, like so many of the rest of us, had a difficult relationship with his father. He didn't feel seen, or acknowledged, or appreciated by him, and that left a gaping hole that he's been dealing with all of his life. I have to give him a lot of credit for not turning to the things so many of us turn to for filling such holes -- alcohol and drugs. Instead, he channels it into his music and takes a great amount of pride in his physical body, practicing self love -- the kind I practiced by going to yoga this morning.

But the article also points out that he's done more than that to deal with this hole -- seeing that it kept him from being able to fully surrender in love relationships, he got himself a good therapist, and has been in analysis of varying intensity much of his adult life. He said that he wanted to have a wife and a family, and he knew that he needed help to open himself up to all that entails.

I read about Bruce's performance in Madison this morning and learned that the Boss closed his set with this powerful number:

Grab your ticket and your suitcase, thunder's rolling down this track
Well you don't know where you're going now, but you know you won't be back
Well, darling, if you're weary, lay your head upon my chest
We'll take what we can carry, yeah, and we'll leave the rest

And with my new appreciation for what he is about, I see his lyrics operating on multiple levels. When you've been mistreated, you often make promises to yourself about what you won't put up with in the future. We humans have very powerful self-preservation skills. But sometimes, we have to be willing to look at the mechanisms that we used to protect ourselves and see if they are still needed. Loving someone and allowing yourself to be loved by someone gives us that place to rest our weary heads, and it helps us decide what we want and need to carry forward and what we can leave behind, and it can also lighten the load that we do decide to take with us.

I know this is true in my own relationship, and maybe the hardest part for me is remembering not to carry too much for my beloved. If I can manage to focus more on getting on the train myself, I have faith that we'll find this land of hope and dreams of which Bruce sings:

I will provide for you and I'll stand by your side
You'll need a good companion now for this part of the ride
Yeah, leave behind your sorrows, let this day be the last
Well, tomorrow there'll be sunshine and all this darkness past

Well, Big Wheels roll through fields where sunlight streams
Oh, meet me in a land of hope and dreams

Well, this train carries saints and sinners
This train carries losers and winners
This train carries whores and gamblers
This train carries lost souls
I said, this train, dreams will not be thwarted
This train, faith will be rewarded
This train, hear the steel wheels singing
This train, bells of freedom ringing
[Sax solo]

You don't need no ticket
Oh, you gotta do this
Just get onboard...

Red Rain

I stayed home from work today because I'm illin' with a sore throat, cough, and general fatigue. It's no fun, and the weather today's pretty dismal, too.

I'm not giving myself a lot of points for creativity -- rainy day, the word rain in the song title -- but I was nonetheless glad when this song started welling up from within this afternoon:

Red rain is coming down
Red rain
Red rain is pouring down
Pouring down all over me

I am standing up at the water's edge in my dream
I cannot make a single sound as you scream
It can't be that cold, the ground is still warm to touch
This place is so quiet, sensing that storm

Partly because there is something about Peter Gabriel's voice -- it's haunting, in a good way -- a bit like the redness of the rain in these lyrics -- I'm not sure exactly what it signifies, but it's clearly not pretty, and I dig his ability to surrender to it:

Red rain
Putting the pressure on much harder now
To return again and again
Just let the red rain splash you
Let the rain fall on your skin
I come to you defenses down
With the trust of a child

....because sometimes, surrender is the only dignified move to be made:

Red rain is coming down
Red rain
Red rain is pouring down
Pouring down all over me
And I can't watch any more
No more denial
It's so hard to lay down in all of this
Red rain is coming down
Red rain is pouring down
Red rain is coming down all over me
I see it
Red rain is coming down
Red rain is pouring down
Red rain is coming down all over me
I'm bathing in it
Red rain coming down
Red rain is coming down
Red rain is coming down all over me
I'm begging you
Red rain coming down
Red rain coming down
Red rain coming down
Red rain coming down
Over me in the red red sea
Over me
Over me
Red rain

So I'm going to try to let this sickness wash over me, too...

Too Close

Maybe it's my upcoming vacation, maybe it's the sunshine today, or the run in the woods, or my lengthy sleep last night, but I'm feeling decidedly less seasonally affected today, which is a huge plus.

Still not a lot of music welling up from within me, though, so I was happy to have the radio in my car dial up a good number this afternoon:

And it feels like I am just too close to love you,
There's nothing I can really say.
I can't lie no more, I can't hide no more,
Got to be true to myself.
And it feels like I am just too close to love you,
So I'll be on my way.

The lyrics aren't particularly apropos, in fact, I'm not sure I really even understand them, but I really dig the tune. You?

Nantucket Sleighride

I've been sleeping a lot lately, which is my usual for this time of year, but it doesn't leave me with much  time (or energy) to do the things that help keep me centered, like blogging and yoga.

But, inspired by B.K.S. Iyengar's Light on Yoga this morning (who wouldn't be inspired by pictures of a super flexible Indian dude in nothing but a sumo-wrestler type outfit?), I managed to do some asanas and planned the Tuesday yoga class I teach for this week.

Another factor contributing to the lack of blogs is a very quiet inner jukebox. The way the change of seasons affect me now is, thankfully, so much less severe than it was my general mood was lower, but it still notices (as my British friend was fond of saying even though it probably isn't grammatically correct). Lucky for me, my boyfriend's appears to be alive and well -- or at least, focused on this song -- 'cause this is what he's been singing for days:

Goodbye, little Robin-Marie
Don't try following me
Don't cry, little Robin-Marie
'Cause you know I'm coming home soon

And my personal favorite line, which he has been repeating, as the song does, over and over again:

And I know you're the last true love I'll ever meet
And I know you're the last true love I'll ever meet

For My Lover

It's not completely a done deal, but it's looking like my man is going to stick it out in the Midwest with me, mountains or no mountains, while my primary job on this Earth -- raising my babies -- is still my privilege.

Speaking of privileged, I sure feel that way about having found such a fabulous partner in so many aspects of this life, and I don't take the sacrifice he made to move out here lightly, either. We were joking around the other day, and I was explaining how when my best friend had cancer, her sister said in a moment of anger: "motherhood is my cancer!"

"Wisconsin is your cancer!" I said, and we laughed. And then my internal ipod pulled up this classic from Tracy Chapman about the things that people endure for love:

Two weeks in a Virginia jail
For my lover for my lover
Twenty thousand dollar bail
For my lover for my lover

And everybody thinks
That I'me the fool
But they don't get
Any love from you
The things we won't do for love

I'd climb a mountain if I had to
And risk my life so I could have you
You, you, you...

Everyday I'm psychoanalyzed
For my lover for my lover
They dope me up and I tell them lies
For my lover for my lover

I follow my heart
And leave my head to ponder
Deep in this love
No man can shake

I follow my heart
And leave my mind to wonder
Is this love worth
The sacrifices I make

I know from time to time, his mind is going to wonder the same thing. Good thing his heart never wavers...

Sara(h)

I'm a little late getting this song posted -- just barely getting it up in the same month as the day I'm marking with this particular piece of music -- but I sincerely believe better late than never applies here. This photo captures my boyfriend and I at Fort Wilkins State Park in Copper Harbor -- a haven for sure.

And it went from haven to heaven on this last trip when I turned off the shower at the campground and heard, coming through the walls, my man singing this song from the showers in the men's bathroom next door:

Sara, Sara
Whatever made you want to change your mind
Sara, Sara
So easy to look at, so hard to define.

My big old heart just about melted. Bob's Sara may not have an h, but I still love the fact that he loved a woman named Sara(h) and although my boyfriend mainly sang the chorus, I love Bob's lyrics too much to edit them:

I can still see them playing with their pails in the sand
They run to the water their buckets to fill
I can still see the shells falling out of their hands
As they follow each other back up the hill.

Sara, Sara
Sweet virgin angel, sweet love of my life
Sara, Sara
Radiant jewel, mystical wife.

Sleeping in the woods by a fire in the night
Drinking white rum in a Portugal bar
Them playing leapfrog and hearing about Snow White
You in the marketplace in Savanna-la-Mar.

Sara, Sara
It's all so clear, I could never forget
Sara, Sara
Loving you is the one thing I'll never regret.

I can still hear the sounds of those Methodist bells
I'd taken the cure and had just gotten through
Staying up for day in the Chelsea Hotel
Writing "Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands" for you.

Sara, Sara
Wherever we travel we're never apart
Sara, Sara
Beautiful lady, so dear to my heart.
How did I meet you ? I don't know
A messenger sent me in a tropical storm
You were there in the winter, moonlight on the snow
And on Lily Pond Lane when the weather was warm.

Sara, Sara
Scorpio Sphinx in a calico dress
Sara, Sara
You must forgive me my unworthiness.

Now the beach is deserted except for some kelp
And a piece of an old ship that lies on the shore
You always responded when I needed your help
You gimme a map and a key to your door.

Sara, Sara
Glamorous nymph with an arrow and bow
Sara, Sara
Don't ever leave me, don't ever go.

There's not much I feel the need to add to this fine song, except maybe a response to that last line, directed at the cover artist from the showers rather than the poet himself:

Don't worry. Your Sara(h) intends to stay right here, with ready access to your brilliant mind, beautiful body, and enormous heart.

Cream

I thought this sensual number sounded good when it entered my head late last night, but no one sings sensual like Prince:

This is it
It's time for you to go to the wire
You will hit
Cuz you got the burnin' desire
It's your time (Time)
You got the horn so why don't you blow it
You are fine (Fine)
You're filthy cute and baby you know it

Cream
Get on top
Cream
You will cop
Cream
Don't you stop
Cream
Sh-boogie bop

You're so good
Baby there ain't nobody better (Ain't nobody better)
So you should
Never, ever go by the letter (Never ever)
You're so cool (Cool)
Everything you do is success
Make the rules (Rules)
Then break them all coz you are the best

Yes you are

Yes YOU are, Prince. The video linked above is pretty awesome, but this acoustic version is even better -- check it out!

Mandolin Rain

September 23??!? Seriously?! And I haven't marked a single day with music yet this month, or at least, I haven't done so in this blog format? That seems impossible.

Yet here we are. I'll tell you what else seems impossible: that the roller coaster of logistics and emotions involved in combining two very different lives, having very nearly jumped the tracks a few times, now seems to be holding steady.

This morning on the way to the coffee shop, my boyfriend and I heard this song, and although the lyrics don't fit the present situation very well:

The song came and went
Like the times that we spent
Hiding out from the rain
Under the carnival tent

I laughed and she'd smile
It would last for awhile
You don't know what you got
Til you lose it all again

Listen to the mandolin rain
Listen to the music on the lake
Oh, listen to my heart break
Every time she runs away

Oh, listen to the banjo wind
A sad song drifting low
Listen to the tears roll
Down my face as she turns to go

A cool evening dance
Listening to the bluegrass band takes the chill
From the air
Til they play the last song

I'll do my time
Keeping you off my mind but there's moments
That I find
I'm not feeling so strong

Running down by the lake shore
She did love the sound of a summer storm
It played on the lake like a mandolin
Now it's washing her away once again... whoa, again

Boat's steaming in
Ho, I watch the side wheel spin and I
Think about her when
I hear that whistle blow

But, I can't change my mind
Oh, I knew all the time that she'd go
But that's a choice I made long ago...

Hearing it confronted me with something else that seems impossible: that the 16-year old girl who loved this song but felt so conflicted about love and men and sex and marriage could finally have found herself in a relationship that just feels like home, in the best sense of the word...

Carry it Around

I remember a friend of mine saying that as she worked through her issues in therapy, it was as if she was removing rocks from her pocket, one by one, and each time she unloaded one, she felt a little bit lighter. I can relate. The releasing I've been working on of late is definitely lightening my load.

A couple of weekends ago my kids and I went to Chicago to see a former babysitter and dear friend. Here we are at the beach at Navy Pier on the beautiful Saturday afternoon we enjoyed.

I post this photo here, with this song, because my daughter insisted on carrying a brick around in her backpack that she found while we were down there. Not surprisingly, the backpack got heavy for her, and she asked me to carry it on numerous occasions. I told her I'd carry the backpack but she'd have to get rid of the brick. "I'll carry the brick" she answered. And she did, through part of one day into the next. Just before we were leaving the city, we stopped to see a monument, and she set the brick down. I didn't remind her to pick it up again when we left, and she ended up leaving it there. I expected, at some point, the subject of the forgotten brick to come up, but it never did.

Yes my friends, the refrain to this song:

If you don't want it

Why would you carry it around?

...applies to both literal and figurative bricks alike.

Here's to putting both kinds down, leaving them behind, and moving forward without looking back. This may be particularly challenging for me this coming weekend when my kids and I head up to spend time with my family, but I'm feeling pretty prepared with all this healing work I've done lately.

Plus, I'm armed with some incredibly wise words from Walt Whitman:

Reexamine all you have been told. Dismiss what insults your soul.

I plan to do exactly that, and without carrying it around!

Back to Black

I decided to set my alarm to get up early today and start a morning meditation and yoga practice. Although my alarm clock holds and plays an ipod, I haven't figured out how to tell it to wake me up with music rather than the buzzer. Lame, I know, but the sorta cool thing is, sometimes it just happens.

Today I woke up to one of Amy Winehouse's classics (she's such a beauty in this video, too):

We only said goodbye with words

I died a hundred times

You go back to her

And I go back to

Black, black, black, black, black, black, black,

I go back to

I go back to...

I love Amy Winehouse, and it makes me very sad that she died, but I was glad that she was the one to wake me up today. The last couple of days I've had a very powerful feeling that I'm capable of anything, including being an early riser, resuming my long-shelved meditation practice, and not letting the pain of the past drag me down any further, for starters.

As I laid there listening to her sing about love, drugs, loving drugs and dying a hundred times:

I love you much

It's not enough

You love blow and I love puff

And life is like a pipe

And I'm a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside

We only said goodbye with words

I died a hundred times

You go back to her

And I go back to.....

I could hear so much sadness and resignation in her voice, but I bet she had moments when she felt capable of anything. I'm not sure one could possess that voice and not have some pretty damn in-your-power moments. I sure wish she'd been able to stay in her power longer, but I know she must've been in an incredible amount of emotional pain, and in the grip of a really strong addiction, to keep going back to black the way she did.

Speaking of going back to black, I was out at a bar with a friend last night and there was a TV on right in my line of vision broadcasting a sporting event. Most of the time I'd be sort of offended by that or at least unhappily distracted, but this particular sporting event was glorious to behold: Serena Williams in a U.S. Open match. What an amazing athlete! What a beautiful woman! I love the juxtaposition of her proudly bared cleavage and her linebacker legs. She's redefining feminine beauty, and, along with her sister, what's possible for black women in the game of tennis. Or any other game, for that matter.

On my cushion this morning, I wrote in my gratitude journal for the first time since March. Both Amy's am serenade and Serena's sheness made the list today. 

Here's to feeling your power and embracing it and the many ways -- music, muscles -- that can inspire others...

Death and All Of Its Friends

It feels like I've been on the edge of a big shift now for months. I had that pain in my lower back this spring and earlier in the summer that just refused to go away, forcing me to get help for it. I started to hear my meditation cushion call to me -- didn't heed the call until just this week -- but I heard the call -- I took my hands off my ears and stopped loudly saying "la la la" to drown out the noise.

I mean figuratively saying la la la, which gets translated a variety of ways, including enjoying not just my usual one tasty alcoholic beverage paired with a meal or capping off a mountain bike ride, but having another more often than just occasionally. Being the child of an alcoholic and the grandchild of an alcoholic and a drug addict, I am finely attuned to the urge to numb and when I notice these urges visiting me more frequently, I tune in, take stock, and see what feelings I might be trying to snuff out without having to feel them.

Usually it's the uncomfortable ones; shame's high on the list, fear, pain. I'd list anger, but anger's got a way of finding its way out with or without my help -- it just comes out in healthier ways when I heed it consciously than it does when I'm less conscious. Plus, I learned a number of years ago that anger is merely a messenger. I don't say that to minimize its importance, just to note that anger comes to announce that something isn't right, some need isn't getting met, one of those other feelings (fear, hurt, frustration) is present but not being openly acknowledged.

I went to see one of my teachers last weekend, the one who taught me about anger, and she too sensed the big shift. She said it felt like a death, and, up early this morning, I turned on ipod shuffle only to have Coldplay sing its agreement:

All winter, we got carried
Oh way over on the rooftops let's get married.
All summer we just hurried
so come over, just be patient, and don't worry.
So come over, just be patient, and don't worry.

So come over, just be patient, and don't worry.

And don't worry.

Not worrying is definitely part of it. When I woke up at 4am this morning and didn't immediately fall back to sleep, I was content to rest, when before I might've fretted about what would happen if I didn't get enough sleep. Eventually, I rolled over to turn on the music, and now I'm taking advantage of the time I have to write while my babes are still sleeping, and enjoying the increasing clarity I get from both the music and the writing.

But it's more than just not engaging in worry. It's also giving up the struggle, in big and small ways. Learning to be with what is, because, like Chris Martin and friends, I don't want to spend the rest of my life fighting the same battles over and over again, many of which were with myself and ghosts from my past:

No I don't wanna battle from beginning to end;
I don't wanna cycle, recycle revenge;
I don't wanna follow death and all his friends.

Instead, I'm asking myself one question as often as I can remember it: "What can I do to be kind to myself in this moment?" I have a feeling this shift is going to have a profound effect on my life. It's already starting to...

I Got You Babe

I think one of the things I enjoy most about Mad Men is how aesthetically pleasing it is: the men are beautiful, the women are beautiful, their wardrobes are beautiful, and often, the soundtrack is beautiful.

Speaking of beautiful, I'm not sure I've seen anything more beautiful than Sonny and Cher, circa 1965, singing their classic (the video is a must-watch):

[HER:] They say we're young and we don't know
We won't find out until we grow
[HIM:] Well I don't know if all that's true
'Cause you got me, and baby I got you

[HIM:] Babe
[BOTH:] I got you babe I got you babe

[HER:] They say our love won't pay the rent
Before it's earned, our money's all been spent
[HIM:] I guess that's so, we don't have a pot
But at least I'm sure of all the things we got

[HIM:] Babe
[BOTH:] I got you babe I got you babe

[HIM:] I got flowers in the spring I got you to wear my ring
[HER:] And when I'm sad, you're a clown
And if I get scared, you're always around
[HER:] So let them say your hair's too long
'Cause I don't care, with you I can't go wrong
[HIM:] Then put your little hand in mine
There ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb

[HIM:] Babe
[BOTH:] I got you babe I got you babe

Yeah, some of the lyrics are a little bit goofy, but these two lovebirds sure do a masterful job of radiating the kind of light that can only come from love.

My babes make fun of my boyfriend and I for calling each other babe. One day though, they'll understand exactly what it feels like to have a babe of the Sonny and Cher variety:

[HIM:] I got you to hold my hand

[HER:] I got you to understand

[HIM:] I got you to walk with me

[HER:] I got you to talk with me

[HIM:] I got you to kiss goodnight

[HER:] I got you to hold me tight

[HIM:] I got you, I won't let go

[HER:] I got you to love me so

[BOTH:] I got you babe

I got you babe

I got you babe

I got you babe

I got you babe

I'm looking forward to having my babe in all those capacities when he returns from his travels!

Trust in Me

This lovely song came on at the end of one of the episodes of Mad Men that I watched last night:

Trust in me in all you do
Have the faith I have in you
Love will see us through, if only you trust in me
Why don't you, you trust me?
Come to me when things go wrong
Cling to me daddy, woh yeah and I'll be strong
We can get along, we can get along, oh if only you trust in me
While there's a moon, a moon up high
While there are birds, birds to fly
While there is you, a you and I, I can be sure that I love you....oh....
Stand beside me, stand beside me all the while
Come on daddy face the future, why don't you smile?
Trust in me, and I'll be worthy of you ....oh yeah, yeah
Why don't you trust in me in all you do?
Have the faith that I... I have in you
Oh And love will see us through, if only you trust in me Yeah...Yeah Yeah
Why don't you come to me, when things go wrong, cling to me and woh, And I'll be strong
We can get along, we can get along oh, if only you trust in me.....

And I felt this surge of warm feelings, feelings that have accumulated from all the good times I've had with my man of late. He left on a trip yesterday, and while a part of me was sad not to be joining him, I mostly felt happy for him that he'd get to see both a good friend and his beloved mountains.

Over the last few days, I've found myself talking frequently about how solidly I've felt recently about my relationship, and how much easier it has been lately to trust my heart and have faith that even if in some ways we're in different places at the moment, it feels right and it'll all work out in the end.

Funny then, and I don't mean funny ha ha, that I could come as unglued as I did last night over two little technology-driven let-downs, neither of which, I'm quite sure, were intended to hurt me, but they must've somehow pushed some long-unpushed but fully loaded buttons.

You see, I'd texted my boyfriend to inquire if he'd gotten there ok, and I hadn't heard back. No biggie, right? He's probably busy chatting with his friend, I told myself. And I'm sure that's exactly what he was doing. By itself, that unanswered text would've felt like no big deal. But before I went to sleep, I got on Facebook to download a photo, and the first thing that popped up was something my boyfriend had posted an hour before -- a photo of the sign on some library shelves that said the words Marriage and Slavery and the relevant dewey decimal numbers, and some comment like "must be a coincidence." Relatively innocuous, right?

Maybe. But it didn't feel that way to me. Having survived one marriage going south, I dream of doing it again and fully enjoying it this time around. Relishing it, even. And to do that, I'm going to need my partner to want that too... Not today, but eventually.

In the meantime, I'm going to do what I can do, which is both be in my relationship and be an observer of the extent to which the trust I feel, in myself, in him, in us, can vary from one moment to the next. Doing so can help remind me, in a moment when I feel less trust, that if I just hold on long enough, the place of greater trust will come back around again...

Release Me

Yes my friends, we're on one of them rolls at the moment, where a theme runs through numerous blog posts. Sometimes it takes more than one song and one day to give full expression to what I'm feeling, and this is one of those times.

So, in keeping with the theme, I woke up this morning with this song running through my head:

How many times have I tried to turn this love around?
I don't want to give up
But baby it's time I had two feet on the ground
Can you release me
Can you release me

I'd had a conversation with a friend earlier in the week about finally being ready to release the pain of the past, to stop, once and for all, engaging in this kind of thinking:

Now that you're gone I can't help myself from wondering
Oh, if you'd have come down from your high
Would we've been all right?

And instead, ask to be released:

Release me
Can you release me

Which, in my humble opinion, few have done as beautifully as Wilson Phillips does with these lyrics:

Come on baby, come on baby
You knew it was time to just let go
'Cause we want to be free
But somehow it's just not that easy

Come on Darlin', hear me Darlin'
'Cause you're a waste of time for me
I'm trying to make you see
That baby you've just got to release me

Release me
Release me

I'm not going back to you anymore
Finally my weakened heart is healing though very slow
So stop coming around my door
'Cause you're not gonna find
What you're looking for

They said it. Most of it. But they did miss one vital piece of the process, because it's not just about asking to be released or trying to convince or declare one's desire to be released.

It's also about releasing yourself, really letting go of all the old thinking and feelings that can hold one back years after a break-up. And that means replacing the old thoughts with new beliefs, which, for me, include my right to be guided by my heart and speak my truth with love. And when my truth isn't what the other person wants to hear, and sometimes it won't be, I needn't doubt that it is true for me, and I needn't wait for the other person to accept or validate my decision.

In some cases, I may just have to accept that that time won't ever come. I didn't feel capable of that acceptance for what feels like a long, long time.

But now I do.

Harden my Heart

The refrain to this song was in my head this morning when I woke up:

I'm gonna harden my heart
I'm gonna swallow my tears
I'm gonna turn...and...leave you here.....

Mostly because last night I'd felt the temptation to harden my heart after it had been busted open earlier in the day by a tearful conversation with someone who was once close to me. The conversation left me feeling some of these lyrics:

All of my life I've been waitin' in the rain
I've been waiting for a feeling...that never, ever came
It feels so close, but always disappears....
Darlin', in your wildest dreams, you never had a clue...
But it's time you got the news......oooo....

Yes, that time has indeed come. But in terms of why this song is in my head the morning after said conversation, my theory is that whenever the past love stuff gets stirred up, my boyfriend and I struggle a bit with ourselves and each other. and sometimes that results in less tenderness than we'd use with each other under other circumstances. A bit of hardness, even:

I'm gonna harden my heart
I'm gonna swallow my tears
I'm gonna harden my heart
I'm gonna swallow my tears
Harden my heart...harden my heart...
Swallow my tears
I'm gonna harden my heart....

It's true. I may harden my heart a bit from time to time, but I'm pretty good at catching myself and opening it back up again. It helps, I reckon, that I'm not one to swallow my tears. And I am determined to do all that is within my power to love differently this time around, with more generosity, more compassion, and more understanding, for myself and for my partner.

Take that, Quarterflash!

Sorry

As I've written about before, from time to time on this journey I call upon various professionals to help me move through whatever it is I've got going on -- whether it is physical, emotional or both. I recently went to see David Laden, and one of the things he said really stuck out for me:

"Parenting is one act of self-forgiveness after the other."

It was what I needed to hear, coming on the heels as it did of having yelled at my kids in a way that I remember being yelled at as a kid and pledged never to do as an adult. Parts of this song fit my feelings at the time, particularly before I began the process of forgiving myself:

I'm sorry I'm bad, I'm sorry you're blue, I'm sorry about all the things I said to you
And I know I can't take it back

Lucky for me, and for all parents, children are very forgiving. Upset about it afterward, I apologized to my kids explaining that I had grown up with a mother who behaved that way frequently and I did not want to be that kind of parent.

"You're not that kind of parent!" they insisted.

But it has taken me a lot longer to forgive myself:

This time I think I'm to blame it's harder to get through the days
You get older and blame turns to shame

Yesterday I read something about hanging onto pain that resonated, and I set the intention to let it go. This morning when I woke up, my feet hurt, so I asked my boyfriend to rub them. When he did, I started to cry, likely releasing some of that pain.

At least I hope so. I haven't been sleeping well, lately, either, and it sure would be nice to turn that around:

Every single day I think about how we came all this way

The sleepless nights and the tears you cried it's never too late to make it right
Oh yeah sorry!

I've also been working with the Hawaiian prayer for forgiveness, which I've seen written two ways:

I'm sorry

Please forgive me

I love you (I forgive you)

Thank you

It seems helpful, and I just use the "I love you" form for those closest to me and the "I forgive you" form with those for whom it may be harder to feel the love but who are just as important to forgive...

For Good

I've been struggling lately with feelings of loss, in particular, loss of a friendship that has been an important one over the last few years. I hadn't really let go, hadn't really heard the messages that came from her indicating that she no longer wanted to be in each other's lives in the same way.

I get these daily emails called Daily Om, and last week the subject of one of them was being afraid of the truth. The example given was not being willing to hear it when someone close to you is pushing you away. Reading the message, I knew it was true, and recalled how I'd recently tried to get in touch for her birthday to the same outcome: polite disengagement.

I brought this up to another friend, and she recommended listening to this song from Wicked about how friendships change us:

I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good

My friend reminded me that just as I was led to this person who is now fading out of my life, I'll be led to others who are just right for this moment in my life, and I for theirs. Reading the lyrics, I was more able to focus on the fact that whatever its present status, I was changed for the good by this friendship.

It's easy to blame ourselves when things don't work out, but the best we can do is try to make sure we've done what we can by asking forgiveness, practicing forgiveness, and then letting go when the time comes to let go.

I'm grateful that this very Glinda-like person was in my life for as long as she was, and I'm also very grateful for the friend that helped me through this loss, a friend I've now known for 22 years and we're still learning and growing together...