But of course!

Today I found myself sitting on the beach eating a cinnamon roll and drinking coffee. It's one of those slightly cool, overcast days. I pulled my hood over my ears and started counting the waves. It's what I like to think of as brooding weather. It's neither depressing nor overly happy weather. It just is. In church yesterday the Gospel said (totally paraphrasing here) "It is not what is on the inside that defiles someone..." Envy, hate, laziness, etc. As soon as I heard this I sat up and looked around. It was as though a light bulb had gone off. Of course, it is only what we do to ourselves and, in turn, others that makes us less wholesome. So many of these things are put upon us by the outside world. But how do you let it go? It makes me wonder, how much of our lives do we choose, and how much is dictated to us? Even when I'm by myself there is this "ideal" that is the standard. It is what I measure myself against. I often question, do I do things because I want to, or because I think I have to? How do you attempt to explain to others your choices and at what point do you stop and give in, maybe they are right. How often do I do things "just because", no rationale involved? Not necessarily unaware of the consequences, but steadfastly assured that this is the right decision. I feel as though my life has been lived in one extreme or the other. Wantonly careless or afraid to take the next step. From one end of the pendulum to the other. Perhaps this is what life is all about, trying to find the balance and maintain it.

No good, horrible, very bad... You get the picture.

I feel like I'm fairly optimistic. I love Mondays. When things are tough, more often than not, I can say, "It will get better." Maybe I'm having an off couple of weeks. I haven't been ME, lately.
Let's start with the biggest obstacle. I didn't get into UCLA. I applied to their program knowing full well that it's very competitive. They only take a handful of applicants a year. Yet, I silenced the negative voices that said, "What if you don't get in?" Of course I was getting in. Have you seen my resume? I was really looking forward to doing school full time. Nothing else. Just school. And now? I talked to an admissions counselor who gave me some options. Maybe that's the silver lining. I have options, but none of them equal me starting school in the fall. I'm ready to leave. I need something new. A new adventure, out of this rut. I hate my house, most of my really close friends have moved- I just feel so lonely. Yes, I will take some cheese with my whine.
And boys. I recently met a guy. He's cute, smart, hilarious and adores kids. I thought we were cool. And then... SILENCE. Kind of bummed. Maybe I'm being overly dramatic, but sometimes I wonder if I'm just not loveable.
I've been trying really hard to find some positive things here. But I can't. I actually cried for the first time in a long time. I have been craving something new for a while now. I feel like I'm slowly shrinking and dying inside. Ugh.
In church today the priest talked about faith, love and hope, the virtues of Christianity. At one point he said something that really resonated. "While Faith is spiritual, Hope is physical." Faith is what supports us and holds us up as the world crashes around us. Hope is what drives us forward. You don't hope for something in the past, you hope for something in the future. Hope is what pushes us to keep our eyes on the prize. My favorite Bible verse is Psalm 4. "Know that the Lord works wonders for the faithful; the Lord hears when I call out." Well, here I am calling out. I hope that Faith and Hope will carry me through this and I can get back to being ME.

The One

I recently received a text that made me reevaluate one of my many theories. The text said "Hey P, moved to Texas. Just wanted to let you know that I've been dating someone seriously." Wait. WHAT? The text was from Aaron. The ONE. I haven't spoken to Aaron in 2 years. He emailed a year ago, the standard How's life? email. I haven't seen him since I boarded a plane after breaking up with him 3 years ago. Wait, take that back. I saw him at a race, but he didn't see me. I was pissed that he appeared to be better looking. Why couldn't he be bald and fat? My only consolation was that he appeared shorter. I was perplexed with the text. I assumed he was dating this whole time. In fact, I'd seen pictures of him on his brother's facebook with the same girl he'd cheated on me with. (She'll remain nameless.) When I mentioned that to a male roommate he responded with, "Well, doesn't it soften the blow knowing he cheated on you with his soul mate?" Wrong answer, dude. Initially, after the break up I thought we'd get back together. I hung on to every last aspect of the relationship.And for the first month after the break up I would spend my days crying and telling anyone who listened that I hated him. But he would call or text every night and I'd be better. Until we said goodnight. Then I'd be a mess- AGAIN. I ruined myself over this guy- mentally and physically. Why? Because he was THE ONE. You know, THE ONE! That whole fairy tale misconception that there's THE ONE out there for everyone. You just have to look hard enough and hold on tight when you find him. Blahblahblah! I call bull shit. "Bull Shit!" So, I concocted my own theory of THE ONE.
I believe that there are many ONEs out there. (Yes, I made something that is technically singular plural. I realize that this is improper, but it's a theory so just go with it.) There is THE ONE who you first fall in love with. THE ONE you get your first kiss from. THE ONE who teaches you new things. There is THE ONE who crushes your self esteem. And THE ONE who is your biggest cheerleader and shows you just how amazing you are. There is THE ONE who makes you question your beliefs. And there is THE ONE who breaks your heart in a completely absolute way. And yes, in the end, there is THE ONE that you marry. These guys that I dated (and who had the privilege of being called my boyfriend) were all at one point THE ONE. There was Nic, my on-off college boyfriend. He was THE ONE who showed me that just because a guy's a great friend doesn't mean that he'll be a great boyfriend. There was Jaime, he was THE ONE who was way too smart for me. He read books and listened to music that I hated. Why did I try to be something else for him? Ugh. There was Brian, who was THE ONE who wanted to get married and have babies right away. I was 22! Too soon. There was Hritz, he was THE ONE who constantly told me that I was beautiful and smart. (Serious self esteem booster) But when it became long distance I was the one doing the traveling. Eventually I realized that I shouldn't have to beg my boyfriend to see me. Hritz, was also, THE ONE who I decided to get back together with. But nothing had changed. The saying goes, if it's not broken, why fix it? In this case, it was not fixed- it was still broken. And there was Aaron. He was the only guy that I thought I was going to marry. Clearly, he was not THE ONE. In fact, he'd be THE ONE (said ominously to denote that he's an ex and all around bad dude. He's the guy in all black in the fairytale to let you know he's not the Right ONE). Yin and yang, one and the same.
But back to the text. How should I respond? My mean side wanted to text back "Who is this?" or something bitchy like "Don't screw this one up." Another part of me wanted to say something nice like, "Hope all's well with you and good luck in Texas." I eventually opted for neither. Silence.
**Listening to Pandora as I write this and Alanis' "Unsent" is on!!
"I used to be attracted to boys who would lie to me, and think solely about themselves". True. "Used" to.
PS- I really don't spend all my time wistfully staring out the window thinking about dudes. Hopefully, future posts will show that.

There is no Santa Clause

I don't even know how to start this. My mind is spinning the conversation over and over and I still want to cry. Perhaps the best word is distraught. I am distraught.
Today I got to see my best friend, J, whom I haven't seen in a year. She is without a doubt my best of best friends. She is the other part to my puzzle piece. She can pick up my spirits and give out a good tongue lashing all in a matter of minutes. She is fiercely loyal and someone I have counted on as a constant in my life for 16 years. She lives in a different state and we don't get to see each other a lot. But we still talk on the phone and when we do see each other we revert back to the roles we had growing up. It's nice to know that some things don't change. I can think of no better way to spend an afternoon than swinging in the hammock giggling and sharing with a best friend.
The conversation started innocently enough. You see, J just filed for divorce- on February 14. But we weren't sad. Yes, we mourned the marriage and the hopes and dreams that went with it, but we also celebrated the fact that J was free. Free to pursue her dreams. Free to make her own decisions and find what makes her happy. J's wasn't a happy marriage. She had found her husband in compromising positions with other women. She had been forced to leave California because that's what he wanted. She was told he didn't want kids, even though he had once promised otherwise. And J was not completely innocent. She used her intelligence and acerbic tongue to insult and degrade him every chance she could. Two unhappy people only make each other miserable. So after five years of marriage they chose to end what probably shouldn't have been started.
After covering all of the important things (where will you live? what will you do?) we moved to the more trivial, do you think you'll start dating? I asked her this after warning her about a series of unfortunate dates I'd been on.
She looked me in the eye and said, "You can't judge me. Promise me that." What?
J then proceeded to fill me in on her "friend". A man she had met 7 years ago had found her on Facebook over a year ago. She was flattered by his attention but pointed out that they were both married. He claimed that he merely wanted to be friends, but in that same message confessed to having been attracted to her when they first met. Facebook messages gave way to texts, then skyping. Now as her marriage is over it has become non-stop phone calls and flirting. And yes, he's still married- with two kids.
As my mind began to realize that J was inserting herself into the plot of a lame Lifetime movie my heart began to sink. Growing up I had a very close group of girlfriends who were all religious and though we didn't go to the same churches (we were Catholic, Protestant and Muslim) we all shared the same core values. When J was baptized we all went, we celebrated Eid with S and they all came to my Confirmation. We held each other responsible and accountable. They were and are my moral compass. These friends are the voices in the back of my head whenever I waver.
J must've sensed my growing anger because she stopped and asked, "What are you thinking? Are you mad at me?" Yes. I was mad that she could so brazenly think that her actions would have no consequences. I was mad that she could be so selfish and think only of what she wanted. I was mad that the person I had always counted on to stand on the right side of good could be so wrong. How could she think that this was right?As I told her all of this I started crying.
"P, this is different than you and Aaron. I haven't slept with him. He's in a loveless marriage. He wants out."
I knew she would be defensive and stubborn, but my job as a friend is to tell her when she's making a wrong choice. She would do it for me.
I pointed out that her distracting him couldn't be helping his marriage. It's one thing for him to give up on his marriage on his own, and something completely different for him to be carrying on and deceiving his wife. How could J want to be in a relationship that has so much deception? Wouldn't he do the same to her? As J started to cry I knew she had thought of these things, as well. I reminded her of how when I found out Aaron was cheating on me and how she had sat on the couch wiping my tears and how she had held back my hair as I threw up from all the turmoil.
Reaching out my hand, I looked at her and said, "I don't want you to be THAT girl. That girl that I hated. It's not worth it, is it?" As J hesitated, I said "Then you have changed. You would have never thought this was right." I might as well have slapped her. "Don't say that! I am still me, P. It's still me. I feel like you're disgusted in me. I'm J and you're P. I'm still me."
We stopped talking about it after that and sat in silence. Eventually we decided to get some food and watch the last of the basketball game. But it still hung over us.
And when J went to leave I said our usual goodbye, "You're J and I'm P and I love you." But before I let her go, I whispered, "I'm not judging you. I just know that this won't make you happy."
I don't know what will happen to J and A. I wonder that she can't see that this is so wrong. I will keep reminding her what the right choice is, because that's what friends do.

Unicorns

I have theories. In fact, I have theories about some of these theories (meta-theories?). I border on the verge of crazy-town ever so often and these theories rationalize most of my actions.
I haven't seriously dated in the last three years. THREE YEARS! I've gone on the occasional date and the even more rare second date, but nothing serious. Initially, after my last relationship I had decided to take a year off and "date myself". I would do all the things I wanted, and I gave myself permission to be as selfish as possible.There was no set end date and no real reason why I decided to make it a year. So a year passed. And in that year I really started to get to know myself. To consciously choose to do things by myself, for myself. I really honed in on the things I loved and that which was quintessentially ME. In that year I made more friends and my social circle expanded. I put all of those friendships before any relationships. With so much love from my friends I was happy being single. I didn't need a boyfriend when I had a gaggle of best friends who loved me. And that year quickly melted into two years.
Last January was a turning point. Suddenly, my friends were all pairing up. Two best friends became engaged and everyone else spontaneously found a significant other. It was like musical chairs, but the music stopped playing for me. Game night became awkward when the couples had their "inside" jokes and I was left with no partner. I was no longer included on movie night and I became appalled by my friends' need to constantly touch or kiss each other as I attempted to have a conversation. Everyone was twitterpated except me.
I resolved to remedy the situation by finding a boyfriend. Easier said than done. After being set up on a series of horrible dates (a guy who may have been gay, the construction worker who was dumb as nails and the breathy, nerdy guy from church), I decided to take matters into my own hands. On-line dating. Match.com to be exact.
I paid for a month's subscription and waited for the inevitable onslaught of potential suitors. And it came. The number of cheesy lines and "winks" was initially an ego boost. But as I looked deeper at these guys I realized the flaw of on-line dating: too much information can be a bad thing.
Back when I lived in LA and did the whole party scene my friends and I came up with a game called "Find the Fatal Flaw". It was our way of guaranteeing that our hearts wouldn't be broken like they had in the past. Self-preservation, if you will. Everyone was responsible for sizing up any guys the others were interested in. My weakness has always been tall, blond boys. And while I became weak in the knees my friends would quickly point out the cell phone strapped to his belt (how did I not see it?) or the gum he was chewing (a clear sign of halitosis). Find the Fatal Flaw guaranteed that no one was good enough for us. We would give out wrong numbers, point and laugh and pat ourselves on the back for seeing past all the pretty faces.
As I perused profiles on Match I started finding "flaws" in everyone. Too tall, too short, too nerdy, too dumb, not cute, too cute, he smiles weird, he's a Republican, he's a vegetarian, too skinny, too fat, he does (_____) for a living. I realized if I was still playing Find the Fatal Flaw I probably wasn't in the right place to be dating. So I canceled my subscription.
And here I am, one year later. I've been on a couple of dates and realize that there are some great guys out there, but usually I just want to make them my friends. Friends tell me I'm too picky, but I think I deserve to be. And from this picky-ness the theory of the Unicorn was born. I am a tomboy at heart, I like to get dirty, watch sports, eat steak and drink beer. My personality can be loud and demanding, at times. Because of this I am often attracted to "jocks". They understand wanting to go play catch/tennis. They get that I thrive on competition and like to "sweat out" my issues. They understand the loved up feeling I get about March Madness and checking my bracket every night. They get that Sports Illustrated will be read cover to cover and you don't interrupt me during a playoff game. That being said, I am also a girly-girl who refuses to wear flats on a date and hot pink is still my favorite color. I balk every month at having to pay rent, but will drop a wad of cash for a new dress without batting an eye. I also am a sucker for a good "nerd". Those guys who understand the importance of literature and grammar. They wouldn't be caught dead texting me "Sweat dreams" (that's you, Mr. Construction guy). When I propose a trip to a museum or the Boeing factory they don't roll their eyes. They enjoy movies with subtitles and are willing to try new foods. We can have a conversation with differing views and come away having learned something new. We can play history hop-scotch as we discuss the ramifications and historical context of world events. My conundrum is that I am attracted to jocks but crave the intellect of a nerd. To find all of these things would be rare, much like finding a unicorn. So, my quest for a unicorn continues.

First Loves

First loves are never planned. You don't get to arrange your life and say,"It's all in order! And now I'm ready." First loves catch you by surprise. Perhaps it is the unexpected that makes it so wonderful. Everything becomes new and an adventure. And because it is a first, you are not jaded by past events. You are innocently blinded and easily give your whole heart. Running was my first love.

I recently started running again, and by recently I mean about 5 months ago. It all started when my friend, Lealah, asked me to join a running group (Running Grrrl) that she was starting. It would be all women, all levels, with the common thread of loving running. I actually didn't even want to join, but I did. When I became a part of Running Grrrl I had no aspirations of being the fastest runner or of even completing a half marathon. Lealah asked me to become a part of the running group and I said “yes”, because she's my friend. I had no intention of really becoming a part of the group. I figured I could tell her that I was working, something came up, and I would just keep excusing my way out. Not because I didn’t want to be a part of the group, but because it was running.

I fell in love with running at a young age. I would watch mesmerized as my dad laced up his shoes and came back sweaty, panting and smiling. I realized early on that running came easily to me. And I used it to my advantage, beating all of the boys in my class, which meant I was always picked first for games at recess. Sometimes on the weekend my dad would take me out to run with him. We would go out and run from telephone pole to telephone pole, and I would relish every “win”. As I grew up running remained a part of my life. In high school and college my tennis coaches joked that it was my ability to run down balls, not my hitting, which kept me in my matches.

After college I had an on again, off again relationship with running. Remembering the fun that I used to have with it I would come back and try to pick up where I had left off, only to be punished for my absence, left panting and sore from muscles I'd long forgotten. Inevitably, I would decide that I was bored with it, and I would move on to something new. Running was that relationship that I always came back to and it never let me down.

And then I started dating THE EX. Running became our thing. We did a couple of 10ks or just ran the bike trail on date night. It was great. I had never been in a relationship where I was so completely comfortable being me. I was head over heels in love. And then we broke up.

I have never been one to trust easily. All too often I had seen friends' hearts smashed by giving of themselves too easily. I spent years building up walls to ensure that I wouldn’t be hurt. And then when all the walls came down I was told I wasn’t worth it by the person that I’d built my life around. I shattered.

In the aftermath of the breakup I threw myself into work and running. In the moments of silence that I had I would beat myself up and review every aspect of the relationship, and then I would cry to the point of throwing up. Where had I gone wrong? I rationalized that the demise of the relationship was due to some flaw in me. If only I could have been prettier, smarter, funnier. If only I could have been more.

In an attempt to silence everything and assert my worth I turned to what I knew best: running. I started training for a half marathon and I made the horrible discovery that physical pain is easier to bear than emotional pain. I couldn’t bear the immense sadness, but I could handle running to the point of exhaustion. I slowly began to punish myself. Every footfall became an accusation. I found it in my heart to forgive him, but could not reconcile that he and his actions were one and the same. I found myself to somehow be complicit in what had happened. I should have know what was going on. How did I not know? And every step became more painful. But I loved the pain, mostly I loved knowing that I was the one inflicting the pain. And I vowed that nobody would get to hurt me again. I took what I had once loved and twisted it into something dark and painful.

A month and half went by with little sleep and constantly pushing my body. I was working two jobs and running every chance I had. I dropped to 89 pounds. I couldn’t walk up stairs without getting light headed. And then I got sick. When I walked into the doctor's office I was numb. I was numb as she explained the strain I was putting on my body, and my heart. I was numb as she painted a picture of what would happen if I continued. She said that I was putting too much strain on my body which had led to an infection. I was exhausted. I stopped running when I came home.

I moved shortly thereafter and started to rebuild my life. I rediscovered all of the things that I’d given up. I went back to church. I fell back in love with writing, tennis and music. I made new friends and realized that I could stand alone and be alright. It took a year and a half to gain back the weight that I had lost, but it was a physical reminder of what I had done to myself and how far I had come. The girl that I once was, the girl before the boys and the self-doubt, re-emerged- strong, passionate and optimistic about the world around me.

Occasionally I would run. I would run for 10 minutes at the gym. I would run while playing tennis or chasing the dog. But I no longer ran for fun. I had a pair of running shoes that I carried with me every time I moved, but they were lifeless and spent, just a memory of what was. And then Lealah asked me join the running group.

Like I said before, I had no intention of joining. But Lealah's enthusiasm was infectious and the next thing I knew I was standing at Montana de Oro with a group of women I didn’t know, praying that I wouldn’t have a nervous breakdown. Before I started running I promised myself that at the first hint of pain I would stop. I was afraid that all of those old feelings would come rushing back. But there was no pain. I was met with smiles and words of encouragement. And I only felt relief when I finished. Still, I thought it was probably a fluke. I decided to tempt fate and ran the next week and was just as hesitant, but nothing happened except being slightly sore. My fate wasn’t entirely sealed though until Miracle Miles (a fundraiser for foster children). Running on the beach, surrounded by people, they all just melted away. It was just me. No iPod, no self criticism just the sound of the water and my own breath. And I realized that I was happy. I was HAPPY. Perhaps the hardest thing to do is forgive yourself. But I'd finally done it. I could no longer punish myself for all the could'ves, should'ves and would'ves. Those old ghosts had been vanquished and there was nothing more to prove to anyone else or to myself.This was the running that I loved, the running from the playground, running after my dad to the next telephone pole, running to get to the ball. It had come back to me.

Actionwriter

*Old stuff*

Summer jobs are supposed to be fleeting. A quick way of making some money and today, while assisting one of my students in the seemingly impossible task of typing up an essay on Oedipus Rex, I became mesmerized by her very diligent and patient one finger typing method. And it reminded me of the typewriter that my dad used to force my siblings and I to use while working for the summer at his office. It was the bane of my existence. Seriously. I don’t know its origins, or how it came to be in the office, but it sits on the desk next to the computer. It’s such a weird juxtaposition of past and present. You know how shotguns have a kick that propels you backwards? This typewriter has a related kick. Maybe because it's called the Actionwriter (IBM). Anyways, you can be typing away (very carefully, because there's no backspace button) and it will suddenly kick and the next letter that you type will be 2 inches below the rest of the previously typed letters. So you have to proceed with caution. I do the one finger typing and leave a respectful pause in between each keystroke. Actionwriter would always manage to get me though, just as I was getting cocky enough to rest two fingers on its buttons. And I would be forced to destroy a perfectly nice, watermarked envelope. Thankfully I've made friends with the paper shredder. It destroys all of my mistakes. And when I'm bored I shred different colored paper just to see the rainbow of confetti. This got a little out of hand.