I Never Loved a Man (the Way I Love You)

Yesterday as I was getting ready for work, my ipod turned itself on. "Ok," I told it, "I'm listening. Whatcha got for me?" I put her in shuffle mode, and this is what she started to sing:

You're a no good heart breaker
You're a liar and you're a cheat
And I don't know why
I let you do these things to me
My friends keep telling me
That you ain't no good
But oh, they don't know
That I'd leave you if I could

I guess I'm uptight
And I'm stuck like glue
Cause I ain't never
I ain't never, I ain't never, no, no (loved a man)
(The way that I, I love you)

And somewhat miraculously, given my state of late, I did not burst into tears: I smiled. "You got me there," I said to myself, except I'm not stuck like glue. Not anymore. I was talking to a friend last night about all the stages I've had to work through to get to this point of acceptance -- and there may be more still. But to get to this point, I've had to work through three major barriers to letting go of this love. Here they are in no particular order because it's hard to say that one is more powerful than the other -- they were all quite potent when I was in their grasp:

1) My desire to be the one to take care of him. This one's huge, because it's related to something very primal for women: the desire to mother the ones we love. Plus I loved taking care of him, and it isn't easy to give up something you love to do.

2) The tragic feeling that I might never have another lover like him. This one's also huge. I've described in this blog the feeling of what I call knowing at a bone level that our bodies belong together. Sleeping next to each other was heavenly, the sex was off the charts, every hug, every touch of his hand felt as if it gave me more of life -- more to feel, more to love, more to enjoy. Giving that up has at times felt (and/or proved to be in a given moment) impossible.

But part of what makes it feel impossible is really fear that letting go of this will mean losing it forever rather than getting it from someone else. I got the sweetest email the other day from my first love, who is now a newlywed. I'd sent him the blog post I'd written about finding out he got married, and he responded with absolute certainty that I would find love again. On some level I know this, and I've been told by many people close to me that they know it too, but for whatever reason, I was able to really hear it and believe it coming from him. He knows a little something about loving me.

3) Last but certainly not least, I've had to work through lots of old fears of abandonment that this situation is bringing up. "If you love me, why would you leave me?" asks the little girl inside of me, and to be fair, the grown woman wonders the same thing. In my brain, I can make sense of it. In my heart, I cannot. But isn't that as it should be? Shouldn't a heart get to desire to be with its love(s)? It doesn't mean it always works out that way, but it's a feeling to be honored for sure:

Don'cha never, never say that we we're through
Cause I ain't never
Never, Never, no, no (loved a man)
(The way that I, I love you)

I can't sleep at night
And I can't even fight
I guess I'll never be free
Since you got, your hooks, in me

I hear you Aretha, and I feel your pain, but I am here to tell you that allowing someone to keep their hooks in you is a choice. A long time ago, my friend taught me how to cut the cords of attachment, keeping only the love, but over the last few months, whenever I've become aware that would be a good idea, I've refused to do it. Just like a petulant child: "No! I won't do it! I don't have to! You can't make me!" All true. But now I choose to do it, and have begun that process, because now I am choosing to let go of this love that continues to leave me without all that I need:

Whoa, oh, oh
Yeah! Yeah!
I ain't never loved a man
I ain't never loved a man, baby
Ain't never had a man hurt me so bad

No
Well this is what I'm gonna do about it

... and leave myself open for this love of which those who love me speak. Yes I am.

I haven't used a song in a while that everyone under the sun seems to have covered, but this one falls into that category. The classic Aretha linked above is probably unbeatable, but both Alicia Keys and Jennifer Hudson give her a run for her money. And Allison Crowe proves white girls can belt out the blues too...

It's Too Late

Here we all are at the Northernmost point of the U.P.!

Ever since the first time I went to Copper Harbor with my (then) boyfriend, I wanted to go back with the kids. Once he'd decided to leave for his homeland at the end of June, I wasn't sure we could make it happen before his departure. He encouraged me to take the kids on my own, but I wasn't sure I was up for a 7 hour drive (in each direction) by myself.

But last weekend, we managed to load up the Volvo Cross Country and head north. We had a fabulous adventure, and I think we were all grateful that we found time to make the trip together before it was too late.

As if on cue, on the drive home, this song came on the radio, and that, combined with something that was said in the car on the way home, got the tears rolling for yours truly:

Stayed in bed all mornin' just to pass the time
There's something wrong here there can be no denyin'
One of us is changin'
Or maybe we've just stopped tryin'

And it's too late baby, now it's too late
Though we really did try to make it
Something inside has died and I can't hide it
And I just can't fake it
Oh, no no no no
(No no no no)

It used to be so easy livin' here with you
You were light and breezy
And I knew just what to do
Now, you look so unhappy and I feel like a fool

And it's too late baby, now it's too late
Though we really did try to make it
(We can't make it)
Something inside has died and I can't hide it
And I just can't fake it
Oh, no no

There'll be good times again for me and you
But we just can't stay together don't you feel it too?
Still, I'm glad for what we had
And how I once loved you

Still do. But something shifted in me on that trip home -- something that had probably been in the process of shifting for months -- and that was my level of acceptance about the fact that for whatever love we share, for each other and for my kids, he is focused on going away to have the freedom to do what he wants to do, and it just doesn't work for me to be with someone making that choice:

It's too late, baby
It's too late
Now darlin', it's too late

Light My Fire

Sticking with the fire theme, I read this week that the Doors keyboardist, Ray Manzarek, died at 74, from cancer, and this was the song that starting playing internally:

You know that it would be untrue
You know that I would be a liar
If I was to say to you
Girl, we couldn't get much higher

Come on baby, light my fire
Come on baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire

The time to hesitate is through
No time to wallow in the mire
Try now we can only lose
And our love become a funeral pyre

Lose? Funeral pyre? I really, really, wish that those lyrics didn't apply in the situation where my fire, pretty damn bright all by itself, got much higher than it's ever been before. Sometimes I just can't quite believe that it's happening this way...

Girl On Fire

I worked all weekend on a consulting project, except for the time I spent on my long run and putting my kids to bed/waking up with them on Saturday night/Sunday morning. There's no doubt it is sucking up a lot of my time, but I'm grateful that it helps alleviate my financial woes, and there is some aspect of the work itself that is satisfying, too.

It's a lot, though -- things are busy at work right now, I'm coming to terms with this huge loss, I taught yoga today -- and there are times when I feel pretty damn on top of the world for being able to manage it all. One of those times, not surprisingly, since it is a place where I'm in my power, was on my bike this monrning, when this song started playing in my head:

She's just a girl, and she's on fire
Hotter than a fantasy, lonely like a highway
She's living in a world, and it's on fire
Feeling the catastrophe, but she knows she can fly away

Oh, she got both feet on the ground
And she's burning it down
Oh, she got her head in the clouds
And she's not backing down

This girl is on fire
This girl is on fire
She's walking on fire
This girl is on fire

Looks like a girl, but she's a flame
So bright, she can burn your eyes
Better look the other way
You can try but you'll never forget her name
She's on top of the world
Hottest of the hottest girls say

Oh, we got our feet on the ground
And we're burning it down
Oh, got our head in the clouds
And we're not coming down

This girl is on fire
This girl is on fire
She's walking on fire
This girl is on fire

Everybody stands, as she goes by
Cause they can see the flame that's in her eyes
Watch her when she's lighting up the night
Nobody knows that she's a lonely girl
And it's a lonely world
But she gon' let it burn, baby, burn, baby

This girl is on fire
This girl is on fire
She's walking on fire
This girl is on fire

Oh, oh, oh...

She's just a girl, and she's on fire

Yep, that's me. And most of the time, I can feel that it's true. Right now though, I've got to get to bed -- gotta do it all again tomorrow!

The Freshmen

These past few months, I've been getting back in touch with my teenage self with my return to running. I was chatting with a friend this weekend about my training, and she was very impressed when I told her I'd been training with the goal of running sub 9-minute miles so that I can beat my 1994 half-marathon time of 1:57. "Under two hours? That's like a serious runner's goal!"

Yes indeed, at one point I was a pretty serious runner, and this Spring, I'm attempting to reclaim that part of me. Yesterday I ran 11 miles, managing to stay within 30 seconds per mile of my race-day pace. On the way home in the car, I heard this song, and for whatever reason, it's one of my favorites:

For the life of me
I cannot remember
What made us think that we were wise and we'd never compromise
For the life of me
I cannot believe we'd ever die
For these sins
We were merely freshmen

Running was a big deal for me back then. Before I discovered yoga, before I was able to find any kind of peace within, running brought me a release, some control, some power -- all important, and yet elusive, things for a teenager to have:

We tried to wash our hands of all of this
We'd never talk of our lacking relationships
And how we're guilt-stricken sobbin' with our heads on the floor
We fell through the ice when we tried not to slip we'd say

Can't be held responsible
She was touchin' her face
I won't be held responsible
She fell in love in the first place

For the life of me
I cannot remember
What made us think that we were wise and we'd never compromise
For the life of me
I cannot believe we'd ever die
For these sins
We were merely freshmen
We were merely freshmen
We were only freshmen

I'm hoping my kids will be runners because of all the good things it did for me. I'm also hoping, as I mentioned on this blog a few posts ago, to start teaching yoga to teens. To help them find that place of freedom within their own bodies, minds and hearts. The most powerful freedom there is...

Changes

I have to admit, I'm adept at dealing with some pretty difficult shit. I was talking to a friend about my situation with the man-whom-I-thought-was-my man's impending departure, and she called my present state of waiting for that to happen "torture."

It sucks, there's no doubt about it, but I seem to have a pretty good system down. I have a good cry in the morning, and then I'm often good for the rest of the day -- not always, but often.

Speaking of often, it is often music that brings out those tears -- and this morning it was hearing this number in the car after dropping my son off at school that got them flowing:

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Don't want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can't trace time

The other day my counselor told me I was in a state of transition. She talked about death being our biggest transition, but this one resembling that in many ways. It does feel like something is dying, and it's my dream that this would be the man to make my family whole again, my dream that when I loved with my whole heart, I'd be able to count on it for more than just a fleeting couple, nearly three years of passion:

I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream
Of warm impermanence and
So the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same
And these children that you spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're going through

Ch-ch-chh-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Don't tell t hem to grow up and out of it
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Where's your shame
You've left us up to our necks in it
Time may change me
But you can't trace time-c

For whatever reason, this has always been my favorite part of this song:

Strange fascination, fascinating me
Changes are taking the pace I'm going through

I reckon I just have to trust that these paces I'm going through are going to give me more information, and if I had to guess what that information is it would be something along the lines of the fact that sometimes there's just a mismatch between the love one feels in the heart and the love one needs to be able to both give and receive in daily life.

In any case, these are some pretty big changes. Good thing I'm up for it:

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Oh, look out you rock 'n rollers
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Pretty soon you're gonna get a little older
Time may change me
But I can't trace time
I said that time may change me
But I can't trace time

Look out you rock 'n rollers!

U Got the Look

You know when the inner ipod shuffles onto Prince, things are looking up. There are no exceptions to this rule. So when I was unloading my bike from my car on Monroe Street this morning (my ritual when I have my kids -- drop them at school and then park and ride) and I started hearing this song, I knew I had experienced a shift:

U walked in, I woke up
I never seen a pretty girl
Look so tough, baby
U got that look
Color u peach and black
Color me takin aback
Crucial, I think I wantcha

Youve got the look, youve got the hook
U shonuf do be cookin in my book
Your face is jammin
Your bodys heck-a-slammin
If love is good, lets get 2 rammin
U got the look, u got the look

You gotta love Prince's lyrics. He doesn't mess around with euphemisms, does he?

I can't say for sure why my psyche made this selection today, but I can tell you that about a week ago, I was not feeling like I had the look. Au contraire. And when I went in last Friday for some counseling/bodywork, I talked to my teacher about that. She said that when we release old stuff from a trauma there is often a film over everything -- maybe that's what I was experiencing. Maybe. In any case, I'm glad that, for today at least, the film has lifted:

Look here
U got the look (u got the look)
U musta took (u musta took)
A whole hour just 2 make up your face, baby
Closin time, ugly lights, everybodys inspected (everybodys inspected)
But u are a natural beauty unaffected (unaffected)
Did I say an hour?
My face is red, I stand corrected (I stand corrected)

Here we are folks
The dream we all dream of

You got the look
You got the look
You got the look
You got the look
You got the look

And I'll tell you what else might have inspired this number -- Madison has got that springtime look at the moment -- blossoming trees and flowers everywhere set against bright blue skies -- ahhhhhh...

Let It Be Me

Tulips on the Capitol Square -- just in time for Mother's Day!

In a particularly moving episode of my new fave show, this song was playing in the background:

There may come a time
A time in everyone’s life

Where nothing seems to go your way
Where nothing seems to turn out right

There may come a time
You just can't seem to find your way
For every door you walk on to
Seems like they get slammed in your face

That’s when you need someone
Someone that you can call
And when all your faith is gone
Feels like you can't go on
Let it be me
Let it be me
If it's a friend that you need
Let it be me
Let it be me

And I'm choosing this song to mark Mother's Day this year because as it was playing, the scene unfolding was one that involved a teenager having a difficult time and her family being there for her.

This, more than anything else, is what I hope to be for my children: present. To their joys, to their difficulties, to their good days and their bad days, to their successes and their failures, to their sickness and their health. And because of the nature of our custody agreement, I can't be physically present all the time. When I'm not physically present, I can provide support on the phone, via email and snail mail, and energetically. I can also use the time for both self-care and housework so that when they are physically present, I can enjoy them as much as possible. And I know that while there is a loss involved in this arrangement, there are also gifts. Such is life.

I am also keenly aware, this mother's day, of the lack of a feeling of my family rallying around me during a difficult time. They try in their way, and I know that to some extent, it is I that keeps them at arms' length. I haven't had great experience in the past with the kind of support that they are able to offer. It tends to come with some judgement that just isn't very useful for my healing process.

In the middle of one of my crying jags the other morning over the loss I'm experiencing at the moment, I thought of the choice that I know I've written about in this blog before -- the choice to let this sort of raw experience soften you or allow it to harden you. As I made the conscious choice to allow the softening, I had the realization that this softening may be of use in terms of providing some healing with my family. Given my experience with the love I'm letting go of and my experience with my family, I can tell you that this falls far short of an even trade, but I guess that's not the way it works. In time, I know I will have someone by my side to navigate the sometimes difficult terrain that is my family, but for now, I'm going to have to allow there to be an uncomfortable space, and that's never fun.

Good thing it is a beautiful sunny day, my daughter had a successful 10th birthday party, and I am filled with gratitude for the honor of being mother to two amazing kids...

I Won't Give Up

Ten years ago today, this little beauty came into my life. Pretty much ever since, she's been challenging me to become the best version of myself I can be.

I woke up wondering which song I would use to mark her birthday, and when I got in the car this afternoon and heard Jason's voice, I knew I'd found it:

When I look into your eyes
It's like watching the night sky
Or a beautiful sunrise
Well, there's so much they hold
And just like them old stars
I see that you've come so far
To be right where you are
How old is your soul?

This is a kid who knows things. Let me give you an example. When she heard that my then-boyfriend was moving away, we talked about whether or not he and I would stay together long distance. She said she hoped not, because she really wanted a stepdad, but then said in her wise-beyond-her-years-way: "Well, I don't know Mom, you don't let go of people easily."

She's right about that. All the tumult in my lovelife makes me all the more grateful for the relationships I have with my children. Ones where I get to decide not to walk away, not to give up, and let that guide me:

Well, I won't give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I'm giving you all my love
I'm still looking up

I'm not gonna lie. Having both of my kids reach double digits is a pretty big deal for me. I loved, loved, loved the closeness of being a mother to the babe you see at the top of this post, but I also love seeing who she becomes by moving away from me and more into herself:

And when you're needing your space
To do some navigating
I'll be here patiently waiting
To see what you find

I'm proud to say that one of the things she's finding is music. She was walking around the house a few weeks ago singing this song, and then she came to find me to ask if I knew the song, saying that she liked it. "I like it too," I told her, and the next time we heard it in the car together, we both sang along:

'Cause even the stars they burn
Some even fall to the earth
We've got a lot to learn
God knows we're worth it
No, I won't give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I'm giving you all my love
I'm still looking up...

Comedown

I've been shedding a whole lot of tears lately. Thankfully, I've had experience with this level of grief and I know from that experience that as much as it sometimes feels like I won't make it through this period or I'll never stop crying, I know that I will, on both counts.

Doesn't make it any easier to be going through it, though.

Bush agrees:

'Cause I don't want to come back down
From this cloud
It's taken me all this time to find out
What I need, yeah

I don't want to come back down
From this cloud
It's taken me all this, all this time

And one of the things that feels so hard about it this time around is that not only am I not wild about finding myself alone again, I really didn't want to come down from this cloud because I liked being on it so damn much!

Scarred and Scared

Ever since Pandora landed on this number late yesterday afternoon, I've been thinking about the toll that the past can take on people, particularly a traumatic past. Although neither I nor any of my loved ones have committed a crime like the one Rod is singing about, I know there are many out there who are both scarred and scared, as I myself once was:

Started out like any one of you
Good intentions and a degree
But one hot night under the neon lights
Killed a boy just seventeen

Now I sit here rainin' on my Maker
Reprieve is all I'm praying for
Lord I fear the hangman's steps approachin'
Will the priest knock gently on my door

And I know I've let my daddy down
and I broke my mother's heart
I'd give anything turn back time again
Just give me one more start

I don't need no trial humiliation
Just tell me that I'm heaven bound
I don't want no two faced consolation
What use is that to me six feet underground

I'm going down to the engine shed
Put a gun up to my head
Blow myself into the promised land
We call it scarred and scared
And if you ever see my son again
Don't let on just how I fared
Tell him, tell him I went down big and strong
I was never, never, never scarred or scared

All the girls that once did gather 'round me
have moved along to someone else
Sitting here desperation is my close friend
What I'd give to kiss one of them now
Oo yeah I'll take you there
I'll take ya there

It's like something gets taken away, some important piece of vitality, some inherent understanding of ourselves and others as precious creatures, and getting that back is a ton of really hard work. Some of us never get that opportunity; others of us choose not to take the opportunity when it is given.

I've been thinking a lot about how to try to increase the possibility that more people will recover from the traumatic events of their past. If we can't find a way to heal, and help others heal, I'm afraid the alternative is isolation. For some, this means choosing to be alone; for others, it means being in a relationship but keeping a wall up; and for a select few, frighteningly, it means devastating acts of violence along the lines of the Boston marathon bombing.

I've experienced a lot of healing through yoga, and I hope to extend my reach as a teacher by beginning to work with couples and teenagers at a newly hatched studio in town.

Here's to scarred and scared as a description of many of us at a given point in our lives, not as a permanent state of being...

One More Night

This morning on my 9-mile run, I was feeling good, feeling like anything was possible. I ran the last couple of miles as hard as I could, and as I ran, I had a visceral memory of how great it felt in junior high and high school when I did well as a competitive runner in track and cross country.

This afternoon, however, I took a turn toward a much bleaker outlook. I ran into a friend at the grocery store, and we were talking about my moved-to-Madison-to-be-with-me New Englander. My friend said that he still thinks he'll change his mind about leaving, and how much he believes he'll regret the decision if he does move. I don't know if people say that because they think that's what I want to hear, or because they believe it, or a bit of both, but in any event, I find it very difficult to hear.

As much as I'm trying to be with what is and be ok with it, tonight I just feel really alone, much like Bob sings about here (unfortunately, I could not find a video of the young Bob singing this fine song, but I did find a cover of it featuring an adorable father and daughter):

One more night, the stars are in sight
But tonight I’m as lonesome as can be
Oh, the moon is shinin’ bright
Lighting ev’rything in sight
But tonight no light will shine on me

I suppose over time I'll sort my feelings out, or they'll evolve, but at the moment I can't decide if I want him to live to regret the decision to leave. I don't suppose I do, but it just feels so wrong to me. I remember how it felt when he pulled into my driveway after he drove across the country the first time. I felt so much joy and promise -- like the rest of my life had arrived, and I'm just not sure I can bear watching it drive away again:

Oh, it’s shameful and it’s sad I lost the only pal I had
I just could not be what she wanted me to be
I will turn my head up high
To that dark and rolling sky
For tonight no light will shine on me

One more night, I will wait for the light
While the wind blows high above the tree
Oh, I miss my darling so
I didn’t mean to see her go
But tonight no light will shine on me

I reckon the only way I'm going to be able to do it is to rewrite that story. As it turns out, the rest of my life isn't going to be driving away, just the person that my heart, soul, body and mind believed would be my partner in that life.

Alas, one of the most powerful lessons I learned during my time in the Alanon program is that feelings aren't facts. Next time around, I'll have to remember to look for the evidence that the things that I'm hoping are happening in my life are truly happening...