37.

 The sunset years of my thirties are nothing like I expected.

Put aside a global pandemic- none of us saw that coming, of course. It's just wild how differently our lives can turn out than we planned. 

I thought I'd have a forever partner by now, be a mother. Maybe a proper home, and a pup too. Instead I'm working on a doctorate, own a business, and continue my ability to long term date. My self talk reminds me this is my life. I need to stand in it presently, work towards what I want. Not compare to others. 

That's the easy bit- telling myself not to. At this point beyond comparison to others, I'm comparing to my own dreams. 

I don't feel like a failure. I did when I was younger. Divorced at twenty-six, just finishing my undergrad. Again when I was single on my thirtieth birthday, growing a fledgling business, flourishing in my career working with elite athletes. Once more after a disastrous breakup at thirty-four, finally deciding therapy might show the mistakes and thought processes I was repeating. Realizing I needed to take less of the fault onto myself, and be honest about what I want and need. 

Looking back I see a theme- my thoughts of failure attached to my personal relationships, rather than my professional shortcomings. Or the friendships I've lost along the way.

I feel loved and appreciated by those I hold dear. I'm still working on not living in a future just in my imaginings, but in a present filled with hope and possibility. 

I don't know if I feel old, but I know I no longer feel young. I know I'm not content, not disappointed either. 

This is my life. I'm living in it currently. I think now what I ponder the most is if this is the pinnacle, or if there's more? Too soon to tell, I think. Stay tuned. 

"It's the quiet ones you've got to watch."

 Sometimes I don't know how to handle a quieter kind of love. I think it makes me... anxious. Maybe? Ugh.

We've had it packaged to us- love should be this overwhelming, head over heels, challenging, enraging, steamy, sexy, volatile thing. Who else watched Scandal? Or any romantic movie made since the beginning of movies??? All angsty and hold the boom box over your head, run through the airport, scream in the rain kinds of love. So many mers. 

They don't overwhelm me, they don't push me in all the unhealthy ways I'm used to. Don't get me wrong- it's very challenging. I mean, we shouldn't work- politically, dissimilar backgrounds, ethnicities... for fucks sake. I'm all words, they're all touch. I'm challenged, angered, assuaged, and heard. Not in raptures though, and I don't know how to handle it. 

How do you explain it? They give me butterflies, this is true. I miss them when they aren't there. Ah hell- I catch myself staring at them. Lawd, I'm gross. Is it a different kind of rapture? I look forward to seeing them cuddling them, sleeping with them... but it's not... toxic? Is that what I'm missing? What does that say? What in the actual f...

Hell if I know. I want to dissect it of course. This is how adults love? Without constant drama, angry make up sex, or or... drama? Yes I said drama twice. I'm way too used to drama it seems. 

Man, this is really not something I want to assess. That's a lie, of course I do. 

Love doesn't have to hurt. It doesn't have to overwhelm the senses, or knock us for a six. I don't know what to make of this sort of love though. A caring based in attraction, that built in a friendly way as well as more. I've never had that. Is this deeper? Different? 

It's a quiet kind of love. Can't say I'm mad at it. 

To the first boy I kissed

I remember the first time I saw you. You used to use all kinds of product in your hair. Do you remember? You parted it down the middle, it was a hard part too. We were about the same height, and you hadn't figured out your sense of style yet. Neither had I. Lots of plain shirts and jeans. Your smile stayed the same though, even when we got older. It had a little quirk on the one side- you only showed your teeth when you laughed. It did carry more sadness though, more tension and experience around its edges as the years passed. 

You were the shiny new toy back in the day. You'd just moved to our school. The handsome newcomer everyone noticed- and you asked me to be your girlfriend. We were in the 6th grade.

I think we dated for a few days, maybe a week. All sweet little pecks (my first kisses with the opposite sex), and holding hands in the halls. I was the one who called it off, for some overly dramatic reason or another. Nothing like middle school days. We were learning, or at least trying to learn what we thought adulting was.

We were twelve then. I'm thirty-six now. I heard you passed away a few days ago. A friend texted me with the news, and we talked a bit about you. 

I know you struggled when we got older. The world seemed to rest heavily on your shoulders, but you still had that smile, in all your photos. The parted hair replaced with what seemed to be a permanent baseball cap. You still had those dark eyes... and now you're gone.

I wish we could have been friends as we got older, and not just social media acquaintances. We did talk a bit online a few years back just to catch up, and I remember leaving it on a good note. I'm thankful for that. I'm thankful for you being the first boy I kissed, and for the memories of you. Even when you didn't like me in high school- I'll never get to ask you why that was. It doesn't matter now of course. 

I hope you're happy wherever you are. That it's peaceful there. Know that smile of yours will stay with me always. So will the little boy with the harshly parted hair- he left an impression a grown woman still remembers. 

Chords.

 Something nudged at me to look you up today. You'd done it recently too, liked a couple of my posts. I saw you'd posted about a new love. I waited for an ache, a moment. There was nothing. I waited a long while to make sure. 

I remember how hard it was now, loving you. You weren't out. I was. I was older, more established. You less so. Fire and ice, day and night, yin and yang. True opposites. I wanted you to be proud, claim me as yours- not as property, but as your person. You were so afraid back then. It looks like you're less so now.

It's easy to see why we didn't work out now. Of course that's what time does, doesn't it? Spreads out like threads, making it easier to distinguish one thing from another. Tug on a chord, and track down a memory. Follow it, and if you've grown at all you'll see the subtle differences. 

I like to think we learned from each other. All the anger and hurt is gone from me now. It's crazy to think I met you six years ago...

Then why am I writing about this? You were the last woman I loved. I ponder often if that will always be the case. Others tried to win my regard, and I just wasn't ready for what they had to offer, nor wanting of them. I know I won't be the last for you. That doesn't make me sad though. Just a wondering. 

I wonder if you look back on our time with fondness now. If you see the good rising above the bad, especially with everything that happened in the end. If being with me helped you in any way, maybe taught you a thing or two. Maybe not, I'm not going to reach out and ask. I doubt we could be friends. 

I think one of the things I realize the most is how much I've changed. You were the last person I tried to wrap myself around. The last I tried to do everything for. Trying to fix in you what was broken in me. 

The scars still show, of course. From you and the ones who came before. My partner sees them- the battle scars that define my insecurities and past heartbreaks. Will they just give me lip service, like you did? Pour honey into my ear, and tell me what I want to hear rather than what they truly want? Will they not understand my queerness, my blackness, my hopes and dreams like the ones before? Will they ask for all of me, and not give back in return? 

I don't think so. I'm a different human now. They are too. Now I wonder how much of myself I actually gave to you, because this isn't the woman you claimed to love either. I'm sure you'd recognize bits and pieces, but the truth is- I don't entirely recognize myself. I like me, love me more. 

I hope you find her, who brings out the best in you. Yourself.

I wonder if I'd want to be friends with her too. No, not more than friends. That time is long gone. 

Maybe, maybe not. A happy fantasy maybe. Do we ever fully cut the chords of the people we gave ourselves to? I think that's another time question. I'm still younger than I think I am. Maybe that's an old lady question. 

I think I'm done tugging this chord. Cheers to endings, and beginnings. 

Less and less words.

 This is the longest we've gone since I've known you. You're not one with words, but you spoke more than we do now. 

And I hate it.

I know this was my call- I know what I want, what I hope. It doesn't make it any easier. 

It feels like a gamble, one I could lose big on. You could too, come to that. 

Gamble on me. Bother me. Choose me. Earn me. 

Or don't.

I'm gambling on you.

But let's be clear. No more grey. No more guessing. 

For all the missing, I'm less anxious. Not sure what that means either. 

This is where I can't be afraid of my dreams. Are you a part of them?

2020 piece of mind.

 Protecting my peace has come in forms I couldn't foresee. As a planner, it was downright frustrating.  In a year of challenges to everyone I know, we had to learn, adapt, decide.

For me, that was recognizing I am more than my job. I am me. Just me. 

Recognizing relationships that no longer serve- ones lacking empathy, and don't have my respect. 

Recalibrating my dreams to what I want, standing here and now. Not my past, or possible future self. 

Appreciating I'm flawed as I'm built, and loving the flaws that help me remain imperfect. They give me something to strive for. 

Reaffirming my reality is full of uncertainty. To hold the important ones close, to tell them, show them I love them. 

Crying is a superpower- emotional intelligence and awareness are gifts. 

After it all, I'm proud of who I've become, where I am. Even more excited about what comes next.

Finally, that Peter Pan has nothing on me. I plan to continue to cause good trouble. Good, memorable trouble. 

"She was already the sun and the moon, all by herself." -Up close and personal

A helpless romantic.

     I'm a helpless romantic. I know people usually say hopeless, but no- I mean helpless. As in I cannot for the life of me help my damn self. I have been all my life. In love with love- the idea, the act, the falling, the songs, the films. So here I am again, subjecting myself to another show about love. In particular, Modern Love on prime. I can't help but cry my little eyes out. 

    I've had all kinds of love- unrequited, fireworks, even the kind that just simmers. I've broken hearts, and had mine absolutely shattered.Yet here I am, bawling my eyes out watching these differing stories unfold. I can relate to many of them, others I can only empathize. Of course in moments like these, I can't help reflect on my loves, and trysts.

    The first girl I kissed, and slept with. The ones I snuck off and kissed because I wasn't ready to tell everyone I was a flaming queer who preferred the ladies. 

     The time I actually at one time was a borderline child bride, (alright I'm exaggerating. I was all of twenty one). Still, that's the longest relationship I've had to date. Wrapped within the same story is the high school sweetheart who was also an alcoholic, who happened to step out on me as well. How I allowed that to take up space through being twenty six... the amount of learning of good, and absolutely poor habits that came out of that one. Woof.  

    Or the gallivanting I did afterward. The rediscovery of my love for women, my putting that on a shelf for the guy who looked good on paper, and I almost moved across the country for. I was such a mess after my marriage, I let that one think everything he said and did was gold. Anyone who thinks silent treatments are a good idea to punish their partner can just fuck right off. Then when we were faced with the idea we could become parents, he ran for the hills. With finality,  and complete certainty. 

    The real heartbreak after that one because I almost gave away the damn farm, to more cavorting again to distract myself from the fact I realized I wanted to be a mum. To meeting her. 

    Oh man, she really almost ruined me. She may or may not deserve for more to be said, but really she was the final straw before I realized I couldn't just love them harder to get them to love me back. Maybe I should pack it in, get some therapy, and sort out myself.

To more trysts- the first lady after getting my heart properly stomped on, another one who said I love you too damn soon, to a guy who did the same. Between the people who do that, or the ones who continually try to get into my pants even years after we fooled around... still not sure if I should wear those moments as badges of honor, or wonder what I'm putting into the ether. I can't decide if it's flattering to still be considered fuckable. Being a woman is weird. 

To now- having an unnamed lead who may or may not remain unnamed. Ah well, I did say I was a helpless romantic. Fucking helpless.

Watching, reading, and listening to every kind of love story, looking at mine and wondering what any of it means, or if it means anything at all. 

Wondering if I'll always be helpless. If its still me taking myself out at the knees by choice, or the universe reminding me I don't control shit.

Back to these stories though- reminding me I'm not the only one.