Flaw Less

On the eve of my 36^th birthday, I am attempting to think positively and to be grateful for another year, instead of whining and worrying about what I haven't accomplished yet.  Today I went for a mani/pedi to treat myself and while in the chair I thought of how, on my wedding day, I walked down the aisle sans a fake fingernail.  It had broken off within hours of getting it the day before and there was no time to get it fixed before the ceremony.  I hid my fingers in the wedding pictures.  That got me thinking about how, no matter how hard I try, I am often sort of a clumsy mess.  When I was a little younger, that thought would have bothered me.  Now, I understand that my flaws are a part of who I am and I am happy to accept the mess that I am. 

I have made a lot of mistakes.  I have inadvertently hurt people whom I love.  I have made poor choices.  I have failed to launch, at least in the way I thought I wanted to launch.  I am flawed.

Even so, the flaws that I have made are lessons, not regrets.  If I loved someone before, I always will, even if it ended badly.  Maybe that is a flaw in and of itself, but it is part of who I am, and I think I would rather hang on to a little love for people I lost and take the lesson than spend time regretting lost friendships.  That lesson is to love without regard for feelings.  That does not really seem to make sense, but somehow, that is it. 

The lessons add up, and getting a little older allows me a better perspective on what I have had, what I have done, and what I can do better.  I will never be flawless.  Flawed is better than fake.  Even my fabulous nails are real now, but I’m sure I’ll break one soon.  My goal is not, as it was when I was younger, to be flawless.  The idea now is just to flaw less. 

Trust Me

My mother told me never to trust a guy who says, “Trust me”.  At the time, I was maybe thirteen years old and there were not a lot of guys trying to tell me anything at all.  Of course, by the time a boy finally told me to trust him, I had fully resolved not to be an idiot and do it. 

Rejecting the “trust me” guys proved to work in my favor.  I learned that if a guy had to say it to begin with, I was obviously showing him that I thought he was full of it.  And if my first, gut reaction toward someone was to distrust him, then it was for a good reason. 

Since then, I have rarely trusted anyone who told me I should.  This goes for wannabe boyfriends, friends with scheming ways, anyone who said, “No, I didn’t drink that much.  I can drive fine,” and every car salesman I ever laid eyes on.  Many times, it kept me from getting screwed, either literally or figuratively.  No ill-given trust meant no regrets later.  This is not to say I never made a mistake, but usually my mistakes have happened because I made a poor choice, not because I let someone make one for me. 

Here is the problem.  I trust people who never ask to be trusted.  The usual scenario begins with someone telling me some confidential piece of information about their life.  People tend to do this often.  It could be something that simply makes them human, a small fault that seems massive in their own eyes.  Other times it is a serious secret.  I have held onto pieces of information that could ruin lives if shared.  If I were the kind of person who liked to destroy lives for fun, these secrets would give me the fuel to do so.  Instead, whenever someone has let me in their confidence, which happens more often than not, I give them a little something of mine in exchange.  The more they tell me, the more I give back.  Sort of a tit for tat, to let them know I would never hurt them since if I did they have something with which to burn me back. 

Recently, someone I really, truly trusted lit some serious sparks that pretty much set my ass ablaze.  The arsonist did not even bother to use the fuel I had readily given to her.  Instead, she lit up others with straight up lies.  My attempts to put out those fires were met with further fanning of the flames.  I was burnt to the ground. 

So, should I turn around and pour kerosene on her life and light a match as revenge?  My first thought was to do so; to do unto her what she had done unto me. 

That is not how it was meant to be.  That bridge has burned, and although I did not come away unscathed, I will live.  Yes, I might be more reluctant to give out my stories and secrets.  No, I do not want the people who still love me to feel like they cannot trust me.  My behavior in a bad situation shows what kind of person I am. 

I do not want to have to say “trust me”.  I want to be the kind of person who shows others that they can.         

Trust me, this is what I have to do. 

So Look

There are times when I doubt.  I doubt myself, my path, and the choices I have made.  I doubt that things will work out just the way I have convinced myself that they should be.  I doubt that I am doing the right thing.  So, I look down.  Then suddenly something will enter my vision, and that something will be beautiful enough to make me look up. 

Today I took a canoe trip down a clear, gorgeous spring fed river with my family.  My husband, my father and my daughter took one canoe.  My son, my mother and I took another.  Since none of the three of us in my little boat had experience paddling a canoe, we smacked into a tree within about five minutes of take off.  No big deal, but admittedly frustrating enough for the three of us to panic for a moment and then bicker about who had caused the crash. 

I looked up and saw a family of turtles sunning themselves on a nearby log, and the happy little sight of them brought me back to seeing what was important.  There I had been, worrying about something trivial, something of no consequence.  Then there I was, seeing the beauty of nature and realizing the significance of family, of being together, of the way things are and are supposed to be.

Life takes us through amazing things.  We approach something new with excitement and wonder, but also with trepidation and fear.  Sometimes we crash.  Sometimes the consequences of making a mistake are trivial, and sometimes they can be catastrophic.  But I realize that if I had not made those choices, or if the good and bad things that have happened to me had not happened, I would not be exactly where I am right now.  I would not have been here to see the beauty that made me look up again.

We can choose to keep looking down, or we can let ourselves look up and find the beauty.  So look.  Look around you.  There is love around you that you have neglected to see.  It is very possible that you have not paid enough attention to the good and beautiful things in your life as it is right now.  Whatever magnificence you see when you look up would not be there if you had made another choice.  So look up and see the exquisite life you have at this very moment. 

The possibilities for noticing beauty are everywhere.  Look for it.  See it.  Feel it.  Breathe it in.  And when you find it, you will see that we are where we are meant to be at this moment.      

So look.   

So Vain

A while ago I asked my friends if they would consider altering their appearances to look better, even if it meant that the procedure to do so could be costly or dangerous.  The funny thing is that most of the women answered that they would, and all of the men replied that they would never have cosmetic surgery.  Women are generally not more conceited than men are, so why would we risk potential harm in order to look better?

The answer is pretty simple.  In our society, women are supposed to look young and pretty.  We are supposed to be thin but curvy and have perfect skin and hair.  No man would want an old, fat, wrinkly woman, right?  Sure, we want to be attractive and feminine and look our best so that men will pay attention.  Really though, it is not even about the men.  It is about the other women. 

Women are so incredibly judgmental of other women.  Sure, we can try to blame the media for forcing impossible standards of beauty upon us.  Yes, we can blame men for wanting what they see on television instead of the beautiful women they are actually lucky enough to be with.  But women are the ones who make women feel bad about themselves. 

Women constantly compare themselves to one another.  I’m not as big as she is.  I wish my breasts could be that nice.  Her butt is too flat.  I can see her cellulite.  She is too skinny.  Her hair is bad.  She dresses like a slut.  She dresses like a slob.  It goes on and on.  And women are aware that other women are doing this to them. 

The reason women care so much about how other women look is because we are all at least a little bit insecure.  Many of us are much more than a just a little insecure.  No one is perfect, and the ones who look perfect have issues just like everyone else does. 

It is not about being catty or vain, it's about how we feel about ourselves. 

If we could just decide to find the beauty in everyone we meet we would all be a lot less ugly. 

Bad Words

Today, when I was at the grocery store with my daughter I heard something that broke my heart.  A little girl of about eight years old was riding in her mother’s cart and when they walked past I heard her say, “I’m a pain in the ass” in a very monotone voice.  At once, I felt saddened, because the little girl stated this as if she’d said it a million times and it was simply a matter of fact because someone told her so.  I looked up at her mother.  To most people, she would have just looked angry and sick of her child.  To me, she looked like she just could not take it anymore.

The little girl looked completely “normal” but right away I recognized that she must have autism or something similar.  Now, most people would assume that her mother must be a horrible excuse for a parent and a terrible caregiver and a million other dreadful accusations.  I saw someone who needs a break and some kindness. 

After all, I have been a mother for twelve years, and in twelve years I have said more than a few things that I did not mean.  I have sworn in front of my children, even though I said I never would.  I have yelled angrily in their presence.  I have lost my temper.  Luckily for me, they just never repeat any of it catatonically in public. 

So, who am I to judge another parent who has had one of those days when the world is just not working right, or when she just cannot get through to her child?  I have no idea what her life is like. 

And while I felt sorry for her child for hearing those words, I also felt sorry that her mother was feeling bad enough to say them. 

Bad words hurt, but they hurt some of us more than others. 

What Peace

The terrorist is dead.  For some, this seems to be a reason for celebration, an eye for thousands of eyes.  Justice.  This is closure for the families who lost their loved ones. 

When the towers came down, I cried.  At the time, I knew no one there, no one on any of those planes, or in any of those buildings, and I knew none of their families or friends.  I cried for the loss of the innocent.  I cried because none of the victims deserved to die.   I cried for the human capacity of depravity and hatred.  That people could be so filled with hate, so full of anger toward fellow human beings who meant them no harm; the very idea makes me ill to this day. 

Our military personnel risked their lives to deliver justice to the American people and their bravery is absolutely commendable.  Thousands of families were left weeping as their loved ones have been shipped overseas for years to protect our freedom.  So many lives have been destroyed for the greater good. 

Yet now, when one monster who orchestrated the massacre is brought down, some people deem this a cause for rejoicing. 

All I feel is sadness and fear. 

I am saddened that many Americans are using a terrorist’s death as a reason to argue and carry forth more hatred toward one another because it did not happen fast enough or under the right leadership or whatever it is that can possibly be argued here.  I am sad that some are sharing their wishes that they had “burned him alive” or “cut him to pieces first”.  Some even want to see the execution themselves, either as further proof that it truly happened or as some sick way to see one more act of violence. 

I am fearful because more violence and hate will come from retaliation.  It will happen, and more innocent lives will be lost.  I am fearful that it will never end. 

Violence and hate are bred by violence and hate. 

I understand the need for redemption and justice.  Unfortunately, I found out at a young age what it feels like to have someone I love hurt and almost killed at the hands of an unseen enemy.  I understand the feelings of needed revenge because I have felt them myself.  But I cannot bring myself to condone further expressions of violence. 

What good will it bring?  What lives will we save by continuing hatred?  What peace can we experience if all we shout are cries for violence? 

What peace?

Just Friends

Platonic relationships, by definition, are intimate and affectionate but not sexual.  When two people become intimate and affectionate, sex is often the next biologically logical step.  Sometimes though, there are reasons that would make taking a relationship from platonic to sexual the most utterly and completely illogical oh-my-gosh-we-cannot-do-this step imaginable.  Whenever I see a man and woman in an intimate friendship, I always wonder if they have managed to fall off of that last step yet.

When two people of the opposite sex spend a lot of time together and enjoy one another’s company, they usually end up sharing some secrets.  Secrets bring closeness, and closeness often leads to intimacy and affection.  Whether or not two people are initially attracted to one another on a sexual level, there usually comes a time when one or both of them has a hmm-moment.  Hmm, it feels kind of good when he hugs me.  Hmm, she looks pretty hot today.  Hmm, I wonder if he has ever thought about it, even for a second.  Hmm, if we get a little drunk, where will this go next?  And then, unless one of them is able to hide this new little secret about their feelings for their ever-so-intimate-but-platonic friend, something changes.  After all, there is a natural progression from intimate and affectionate to sexual.   

Boundaries such as one or both friends’ marriages, potential co-worker drama, or personal hang-ups can sometimes keep the barriers up high enough to stave off a potential sexual relationship. 

Yet, even when the periphery has been clearly marked and the reasons why platonic should remain platonic have created a formidable barrier, all it takes is one person admitting the urge to take it further or somehow giving away the secret, and the walls can come crumbling down. 

Once the hmm-thoughts are out there, being just friends is no longer an option. 

Down Low

Affairs are exciting.  Intense lust is all the more intense when you have to sneak around to get it.  Secret meetings and whispered phone calls are hot.  Trying to keep it on the down low makes it all into a sexy game.  Are you playing?

Maybe you have spent a little time flirting with an old boyfriend on a social network.    Maybe you have trolled around on the web, just to see who is out there.  Maybe you dance a little too closely with strangers when you go out with your friends.  Perhaps you have been exchanging some heat with a coworker.  You may even be involved in a full-on sexual affair, something passionate and invigorating.  How would you feel if you found out that your partner has been doing the exact same thing? 

Men cheat.  Women cheat.  It happens, and it happens with people whom you would never suspect.  Maybe you have been cheated on.  Maybe you have been the cheater. 

Generally, men cheat for the thrill of it.  Men want a woman who appreciates them.  They want someone to tell them that they are great.  They want to feel like their sexual prowess is intact.  Men want a woman who will do what they want, where they want it, and whenever they ask for it.  They want someone to make them feel like a man.  A lot of that comes from insecurity and a need for control.  Some of it simply comes from the natural desire to sleep with many different women. 

There are some women who cheat for the same reasons, but most women do it because they need attention.  Women want to hear that they are beautiful and sexy and worth a man’s time.  Women will get into a sexual relationship outside of their supposedly monogamous relationship because they feel neglected by their significant other.  They are missing the emotional connection that they seek.  They are insecure, too.  Many women will claim that they can be involved in a sexual relationship with someone just for the sex, but I have yet to believe a single one of them. 

While it is stimulating to suddenly have someone in your life that wants to give you time and attention and fantastic sex, being on the down low is a very low down thing to do to someone.  If your partner or spouse has made a commitment to you, you should do the same.  It is not just a moral issue.  It is about being the kind of person who refuses to hurt someone who cares about them, no matter how tempting the alternative may be.  If you cannot honestly say that you will be faithful, get out of your relationship. 

Trusting someone you love to be dedicated to your relationship is a big deal.  Finding out you have been lied to and cheated on is one hell of a thing to have to go through.  We owe it to ourselves to respect one another and to end one relationship before beginning another. 

You may think that it will end well, but it never does.  Never.  Someone always finds out.  Someone always suffers. 

If you have to keep it on the down low, you shouldn’t be doing it.

Out There

I am a skeptic.  That being said, I often ponder the possibility of things we cannot know.  This is going to sound like I am kind of out there, but I definitely have my moments when the unbelievable is suddenly pretty damned believable.  Things are not always what they seem, and sometimes the supernatural seems natural. 

                        

I sometimes think about psychic visions and ghosts and other mystical effects.  My first reaction is always an attempt to figure out how these things could be feasible.  There are hoaxes that make everything seemingly paranormal look like the stuff of fools.  The human mind has the power to invent imaginings.  Coincidences happen all the time.  Sometimes, we just see what we want to see or feel what we need to feel.    

I do wonder though.  Things do happen that do not make sense.  I myself have witnessed the nonsensical and have seen some things that would make me sound like a crazy person if I said them out loud.  Someone I know has an uncanny manner of dreaming things before they happen.  One of my close friends visits a woman who claims to have clairvoyant abilities, and she has been happy with the results of those interactions.  Loved ones have experienced seeming divine interventions.  Déjà vu happens to the best of us.  Yes, all of those things could definitely be our minds playing tricks on us, but what if it is real?    

There are things that we cannot understand with our underused and fairly unimaginative brains.  We are all energy, and maybe it is possible that we can interact with other energies on some profoundly unfathomable level.  There are other dimensions which exist, and who are we to know what is or is not possible within them?  We cannot comprehend all that is out there.

And maybe I am a little bit out there, but sometimes I wonder if it could all be real. 

One Life

Losing someone tends to make us consider our own mortality and that of those we love.  Such thoughts often lead to depressed thoughts and wondering what happens next.  Why are we here?  What are we meant to do?  Is there just one life? 

Some of us have faith that there is something great beyond the here and now, whether in our futures on earth or somewhere beyond.  There are those who believe that this existence is just a stepping stone into some nirvana or even into another life.  Some of us believe that this is it, that this one life is all we get. 

I am a skeptic by nature.  I tend to overanalyze instead of accepting the face value of anything.  Philosophy and science are serious business to someone who wants to know all the answers.  I not only want the answers, I want proof.  I want to know that there is a reason for our existence.  But sometimes the answers are not available.  Not having an answer is difficult for someone like me to take for an answer.  I am going to assume that the reason is somehow within ourselves, and that we are responsible for creating our own answers to the why of our existence. 

The only real conclusion that I have come to so far is that we should live like this is it.  We should all live like this is the only chance we will ever have to do it right. This one life should be spent doing whatever it is that makes us fulfilled and happy. 

Many of us spend our lives as if we are trees firmly rooted in the ground and unable to bend.  While it is comforting to keep things the same and experience the seasons in a way that is expected and serene, sometimes we should branch out a little bit.  After all, we only get so many seasons, and if we never move outside our boundaries, we can only experience what comes to us. 

We should never wait for what happens next.  We should decide exactly what we want and move toward it.  I believe that life is meant to be lived and that we are meant to create our own meaning.    

I need to do what I love, live where I love to be, and surround myself with other people who really want to live. 

If we only get one life, I want to really, truly live it.    

Felt It

Little did I know that when the words were flowing for my last post, Feel It, I was preparing for one of the most painful and sad weeks of my life.  One of my dear friends told me that those words may have been given to me by God in order to ready me for the pain ahead.  I know not whether that is true, or whether the Universe just has a plan, or whether it just happened that way.  In any case, Feel It braced me for the days to come.  That pain I was talking about?  I felt it.  The need to be a rock for someone while later grieving alone?  I felt it.  Wow, did I feel it.  And this is something that I will feel forever. 


Someone I love lost their young child suddenly this week.  The family needed me, and I hope that I was able to be there in every way that they needed me to be, and that I will continue to be there for them in the days, weeks, and years ahead.   


The loss of a child makes no sense in the grand scheme of life.  One day he was there, happy and healthy, and the next he was gone.  The pain of the loss is simply crushing.  There is no way to think about anything beyond the loss.  There is no way to stop feeling it. 


Somehow though, I found the strength to try to do what needed to be done to make things just a little bit easier for the grieving family and their friends.  I can only pray that I did what I was supposed to do.  The need to do something to help was automatic, it is what a friend is meant to do, and the thanks they offered were almost too much to bear.  Hearing someone who is grieving tell me that they appreciate me feels wrong to me.  I felt guilty for taking any second of their attention away from their mourning and away from the family.  Yes, I know that it is illogical, but that is how I felt.      


The strength that got me through this week did not come from me.  It came from having friends and family who offered their love and support when I needed it most. 


The loss of a child I love, I felt it.  My own pained sobbing, I felt it.  The crushing grief, I felt it. 


The love of family, friends, and strangers...I felt it. 

Feel It

Sometimes I feel too much.  When it is other people’s happiness that I feel, it is wonderful.  When it is their pain, it is not.  I tend to be one of those weight-of-the-world-on-her-shoulders kinds of girls, and every now and then things get too heavy to hold on my own.  While I would hate to be a person who does not feel anything at all, there are times when things are too much to handle and I just do not feel like feeling it. 

If I find out a friend is pregnant, I cry with joy for the life they are bringing into the world and the love that they will get to experience as a parent.  When someone shares their pride in their child or the promotion they got at work, I am happy right along with them.  Even their smallest happiness can become my own because I want my friends to be happy.  I genuinely share their joy. 

But when I hear that a friend has lost a loved one, even someone I have never met, I cry for their loss.  I have been lucky enough in my life (knock on wood) to have been to very few funerals, but when I have attended final farewells, I am the one who should be folding up paper to shove in the Wailing Wall a la The Secret Life of Bees.  I cry for the life lost, for those who lost them and, if the person was someone I loved, for the hole that will be left in my life. 

Yet, it goes even beyond that.  If a child is missing, I silently pray for them and their parents.  If an ambulance passes me in traffic, I wish with sad hope that the person it is meant for will make it through.  And, God forbid, if a natural disaster should strike, as I imagine the pain of the lost and the families they have left behind…and I feel it. 

Amazingly, when I worked with people who had truly suffered and they told me their stories, I never cried.  Not once.  Their tears poured like an avalanche and I felt it like a boulder on my chest, but I never cried.  I did not cry because I knew that it was my job to be strong for them, no matter what horrific story they shared.  I was somehow able to do that.  But I did cry privately when I knew that it was the last time I would see them, no matter what hell they had put me through on the job. 

I have held friends and family members in my arms whose bodies shook because of their pain, and I offered comfort and love without adding my own tears.  I have done it.  I can block out and cope with things.  Sometimes I am surprised I can cope with all of the feelings.    

At times, I feel too much.

I would rather feel it all than not feel anything at all. 

Your Thing

As a friend of mine once wrote in a song, “Everybody’s got their thing”.  In the song, the “thing” was a suitcase full of pornography, baby.  While that particular something is not everybody’s thing, all of us do have something.  We have something that we hide from those we love.  We have something that we do not want to talk about. 

Your thing might be a secret that you have kept for years.  It could be something dark and forbidden.  It might even be taboo.  It may be something embarrassing, something of which you are deeply ashamed.  You thought something or did something for which you feel there is no redemption. 

Or maybe you know deep down that you should not feel guilt because of it.  Perhaps there is no reason to feel guilty, because you only feel that shame because someone said that you should.  Maybe it was someone else who brought that shame and guilt upon you.  Maybe it was not your fault that it happened. 

If you never share your secret, it will never go away.  If no one knows your secret, it will always hover like a dark shadow somewhere in your subconscious.  Some trigger will always remain…something that reminds you that it hovers there.  

Maybe your thing is simple and you can handle it on your own.  Or maybe you are not handling it as well as you think you are.  That shadow could be hovering there, unnoticed but heavy, and pushing down on your life in ways you have yet to realize.  It is possible that your secret is too complex and the ramifications of sharing it would be too painful to deal with, perhaps even more painful than keeping it inside. 

Some of us have friends we trust who we could consider revealing the suitcase to, but for some of us, trust is part of the problem.  Maybe the secret itself is the reason that you are alone with no one to trust.  Even the most ashamed of us can take comfort in knowing that there are confidential crisis hotlines and therapists out there waiting to help change secrets into topics of conversation.  We know that we can lighten our burden by sharing...without fear.

After all, fear is why we keep secrets.  Fear is why we hide the suitcase.

Even though it can be scary, showing your thing to someone else will make you feel good. 

Role Play

Recently, while I was walking laps at the park with a friend, I watched a twenty-something guy attempt to kick a football.  He failed miserably.  So I said, “Want me to teach you how to kick that?”  Obviously he thought that the lunatic mother whose children were playing ten feet away must be full of it, but he threw me the ball anyway.  I punted it to his friend, then walked away. 

At the time, I did not realize why I felt the need to kick that ball.  But I psychoanalyze myself just as much as I do everyone else, and now I get it.  Sometimes I play my role, and sometimes I just have to deviate a bit.   

Boys will be boys and girls should be little ladies.  This concept gets me emotionally charged and makes fundamentally exhausted.    

I am not a fan of that particular kind of role playing.

My daughter is one of the best players on her basketball team.  Her coach is very patient and great with the kids, and I appreciate that he is a volunteer.  But he does something that irks the hell out of me.  He calls my daughter, “Beautiful”.  Of course that does not seem like something negative.  But when he says, “Alright, Good Shooter” to one of the boys and a second later says “Nice job, Beautiful” to her, it bothers me.  Maybe I am being ridiculous, but I think that if she is out there kicking the boys’ butts she should be “Good Shooter” like everybody else.  I cringe when, in a game, he tells her teammates to “throw it to the girl”.  I am one of those obnoxious sports moms who yells and cheers for her kids, so when I used her name while she was dribbling down the court, some kid’s father turned to me and said, “I thought her name was ‘The Girl’”.  If I had not been annoyed before, that pretty much sealed the deal.  

Yes, she is in a co-ed league full of boys, but she plays hard and does not even know the concept of special treatment.  Unfortunately, she is quickly learning it by default.  The other girl on her team is not a good player, and the coach frequently picks that poor girl up mid-game so that she can attempt a shot.  Of course, he does not pick up the boys who are not good players.  Girls who struggle in a room full of boys get special attention.  I should know better than to expect anything different, but that does not stop me from being irritated that my daughter is learning this lesson. 

As for me, I have two younger brothers who played football.  When I was little I wanted to play football, too.  My dad was adamant that it was not going to happen.  Not one to take "no" for an answer even then, I had to know why my brothers got to play and I did not.  The answer was, “You’re a girl.  You might hurt yourself.”  So, when I countered with the fact that my brothers could hurt themselves just as easily, I got an explanation that involved the female anatomy.  That was not okay with me, especially since I had yet to develop those particular parts.   

Later on, every time my dad and brothers would play a pick-up game of basketball, I wanted in.  I have no idea how many times I heard, “You can’t play, you’re a girl.”  Sometimes I would get so mad I would cry, further proving my girlness.

Little did they realize that their blocks would provide a wide-open playing field for my own daughter.  She gets to play anything she wants to play. 

Every time she kicks a boy’s butt at something, I smile. 

And every once in a while I kick a football, just to break out of my role. 

 

In Bed

I have wondered for a long time whether anyone can really love their significant other for the “rest of their lives”.  If we are lucky, our families are a constant, and we can depend on them and offer and receive unconditional love with them throughout the lifespan.  If we are not as fortunate, they may slip in and out of our lives like everyone else.  Even childhood friends do not, under normal circumstances, remain friends for life.  We may love them, but as we grow we take different paths.  People change.  Lives change.  Love changes.  So how can it be that we are expected to commit to and to love one person forever, to always remain amicable with them, to spend time with that person every day, and to share their bed at night…until death do us part?

Vows are an interesting phenomenon.  Loving, honoring, and cherishing a significant other for the rest of one’s life is likely the most profound promise a person can make.  You are promising to keep that person in your life, as a constant, forever.

Sure, you like him right now.  After all, he makes you feel happy and he wants you to be his forever.  You could not ask for more.  He is your perfect dream come true.  But will you feel the same when he loses his job or starts to drink too much?  What if he gets into bed with someone else?  If the worst case scenario should happen, will you love him enough to be by his side for the rest of your life?  Can you get through that?  Would you even want to try?

Yes, she is beautiful and will likely make a good mother to your children.  But will you adore her when her body changes after having those children?  Will you love her when she is too tired or depressed to give you any shred of attention or to even offer a little bit of kindness?  Or how would feel if instead she experiences fertility problems and cannot give you the son you always wanted?  If she takes a job in which she makes more money than you do, and you have to uproot your life, will you follow her across the world?  Will you still love and support her?

What if he or she turns out to be nothing like the person you fell in love with? 

There is no guarantee that we will love the person we have vowed lie next to in bed for the rest of our lives.  So why do we do it?  What makes us promise forever?  We could break those vows, but if we made our bed, we should lie in it.  Right? 

Marriage can protect us, help us, strengthen us and give us a lifetime partner, someone to rock in a chair on the porch next to someday.  Or it can destroy us.  

So many people jump into marriage blindly because they are madly in lust, think that they are doing the “right thing”, or simply because they are co-dependent and just want someone, anyone, to be there.   We get married because of our instilled morals, our idealistic views, and our need to be with another person.  Yet, no matter how much one person loves another, marriage is sometimes difficult.  It will test you, change you, and sometimes even hurt you.  Sometimes, forever will seem like too long to be in one bed. 

Some people lie in the bed that they made.  They make it work.  They love unconditionally.  Others lie in a bed filled with empty promises, unhappiness or even loathing.  Some just get up and move on.   

No one can see the future.  No one can say that happily ever after exists.  All we can do is make sure that the vows we make are vows that we are ready to keep.  If we cannot say that we will love forever, we should not make that commitment. 

Still, sometimes life throws us circumstances that we are not equipped to handle.  When the marital bed no longer offers any happiness, we have to change it.  Yet, when we have tried our best and worked so hard to make it comfortable but we still wake up hurting in the morning, it may be time to leave it behind. 

The thing is...a vow is a vow.  A promise is a promise.  When love fades, it may be possible to give it light, to feed it, and to make it grow again.  A person should leave a marriage only when every viable solution has been tried.  A marriage should end only when love is truly dead, with no chance of revival.

Sometimes it dies, and that is the way it is. 

Life is too short to be unhappy in bed. 

Like Dogs

I often make inappropriate comments, so sometimes my friends like to return the favor.  Occasionally (and granted, this does not happen very often) a friend will say something that startles me a little bit.  My usual reaction to such a rare occurrence is hysterical laughter.  Today, that hysteria was brought on by this comment:

“I wonder if a dog gets turned on if it watches other dogs have sex.” 

My first reaction was to laugh my ass off at the notion of dog porn.  My second thought was that only a man could have come up with that one.  Perhaps I am generalizing a bit here, but I highly doubt that such a thought would have popped into a female mind.

It is not like my mind doesn’t wander constantly.  It does.  Sometimes I will think about something and consider that it is remotely possible that no one has ever, in the history of thinking humans, had that exact thought.  Usually, it is because the thought is bordering on bizarre, but once in a while the random thought is actually something fairly substantial. 

However, when my psyche delves into some imaginative tangent involving sex, it has never, never gone into the realm of dog porn.  Doggy style, maybe.  Dog porn, absolutely not.  Not once.  Ever.  And honestly, I’m really, really happy about that.  Seriously.

The problem is that, when <Said Curious Friend> made the comment, I had to start thinking about it.  When I start thinking about something and do not know the answer, I have to find out.  In my youth I was the Encyclopedia Princess and now I’m the Google Queen.  I look up everything and anything for which I do not have an immediate and accurate answer.  This is something that I cannot stop.  So, as sad as this may be, I just googled “studies of dog sexual behavior”.  I seriously just did that.  I read about one paragraph, skimmed down the page, saw the word “bitch”, and bailed.  And now I am thoroughly embarrassed about my own behavior.  What kind of freak does that?

In this case, I really, really do not want to know the answer to the question.  I imagine that there have been university-funded studies on dog arousal, but seriously, I am pretty damned sure I can go on without knowing the solution to this one. 

Curiosity, they say, killed the cat. 

And maybe the dogs need their privacy. 

Either way, I do not want to know. 

Bad Mood

Sometimes I am just not in the mood.  I am not talking about sex, I’m talking about life.  I am not in the mood to deal with one more problem.  I am not in the mood to handle one more situation.  I am not in the mood to let some jerk’s snide comment slide off.  What I am in the mood for is either a nap or a fight.  When my mood is angry, I will not be sleeping, so look out.

Whenever I get into one of these moods I try to keep it in check by remembering everything that I have to be grateful for, because honestly, I have a pretty great life.  Even so, sometimes I just let the little things build up until they become one big, bad mood.

Some people like to pretend that they are eternally happy.  I call bullshit.  There is no possible way that they can really get through every single day of their lives with a chipper little attitude and never get frustrated at other people, at circumstances, or at themselves.  The only possible ways someone could be constantly happy is if they were to forgo the ability to think or to be heavily medicated.

I prefer to think now and then.  Also, I am generally against overmedicating people for bad moods, so that does not help me much either. 

I usually laugh a lot.  In fact, people tend to point out that I am giggly.  I often find humor where others do not, so I probably laugh more than is actually acceptable.  But I have also been called “oversensitive”, and I admit it, I am.  So what?  Is there really something wrong with having moods?  I don’t think so.  Should people have to feel bad for sometimes feeling bad?  No way.  But sometimes I let my moods control me, and that is what I really don’t like.  It is something I need to work on about myself. 

The thing is, sometimes there is not one specific thing that is making me irritable, so I cannot change any one thing and make it all better.  So, I do the lucky-me-look-at-my-life-list once again, and then I wait for my crabby attitude to pass. 

Lucky for me, the bad moods never last incredibly long.  Soon I will be laughing again. 

For the moment, I’ll just be a grouch.  Sue me. 

 

In Love

Being in love is the most astonishing feeling in the world.  Nothing compares to that emotion, that sense that your heart is finally beating for the first time, that intensely tremendous need to be with another human being.  Love makes you see things clearly while blinding you into oblivion.  The urgency of its passion makes you feel as if anything is possible and that no one and nothing else in the universe means more than your love right now, at this moment.  It enlightens and inspires and makes you feel alive.  It is beautiful and amazing, and it is worth every single painful moment that follows. 

Falling in love is a temporary emotion, one aptly named for the uncontrollable feeling of tumbling toward something, an influence of which you have no power to stop.  It is unbelievably exciting as you are falling, extraordinarily pleasurable to float through the air for a moment.  Then one day, when you least expect it, you hit the ground.  

Romantic love, Eros, is one of the most exquisite things we get to experience, but it cannot last forever.  Reality eventually crashes down, and when it does, the intensity of the crash often equals that of the fall. 

When the crash happens, we have two choices to make.  We can get up, check the damage, and make repairs, or we can get up and walk away.  Pragmatic love requires more than just emotion.  In order to experience love in the long-term, it takes patience and kindness and an ability to let your self go and to accept someone else fully.  Sometimes the decision is easy.  Perhaps the crash was not as injurious as first believed, and the couple will both want to put forth the effort required to continue a mutually beneficial and loving relationship.  Sometimes, no matter how badly you want it and how many repairs you try to make, it just does not work.

That quote about how it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all was clearly brought to life by someone who basked in the reflective afterglow of its meaning, but only following the suffering of that loss.  If you have ever loved and lost, you know all too well that sensation of literal heartbreak;  that incredibly, heavy, painful, destroying feeling in your chest that happens only when you know it is truly over. 

While the sensation can feel as if you will actually die, you know that you will not.  You know that you will somehow pick yourself up.  You know that you will move on. 

You know that one day, you will be in love again, and that the next time it will become something more than just a superficial emotion. 

Real Sex

No one got real until the sex show started.  Before that, we were all pretending.  We were all pretending to be perfectly upstanding women.  We were perfect-little-mommies.  And every single one of us was pretending to be the perfect-little-wife.  Then, the other kind of toys came out, and we all got real.

For a year, we had gotten together for play dates…for our children.  We gathered together every week at someone’s perfectly clean home with our perfectly good intentions and our perfectly matriarchal dialogues.  It was sweet, absolutely lovely for our children, and exactly what was expected of us.

We were all faking it.  I hate when women fake it. 

Then one night, a very well-behaved but secretly improper member of our group threw a sex toy party.  Admittedly, I had to drink some wine before I got there, but I was definitely intrigued.  Lucky for me, one of the other mommies got a little more real to me the second she offered me a plastic cup with boxed wine and ice cubes inside.  At least with her I had a sudden and unexpected partner in crime.  If it had not been for that glimpse of realness, I am not sure I would have even made it to the party.  I had no idea how it was going to play out, and I really, truly expected it to be as awkward as hell. 

We arrived fashionably late, but only because I have a seeming inability to get anywhere on time.  Enter a room of presumably uptight women listening to a very brave mom with a bag full of tricks.  The wine flowed like beer, and the nervous giggles soon became full-blown laughter.  I must say, the “try before you buy” option loosened everyone up even more. 

The talk ranged from first times to whether or not size really does matter.  And then…the climax happened. 

Without notice, a group of prim and proper acquaintances became real friends for the first time.  After all, it is pretty difficult to talk about ben wa balls with a stranger. 

Gone were the perfect mommy facades.  We could finally be ourselves.  We finally stopped faking it. 

We eventually put away the sex toys, but from that point on, we were real.