Confessions of a serial diplomat

Racial Tension

2009-11-10T16:17:00.003-05:00

We've seen it before - housing prices in major metropolitan areas climb to the point where the average young professional can't afford to buy where they want. Being young, driven and optimistic, they decide to look "outside then norm." Areas that were once undesirable become "doable."

The typical real-estate questions that these yuppies begin to ask themselves are no longer "Is this place big enough to start a family?", "Am I going to be happy here?", or "How are the neighbors?" They become "would I feel safe walking home at night?", "Would my significant other actually spend the night here with me?", "Could I bring my parents here?" or "How long until this neighborhood fully transitions?"

And so it starts... "Progress" begins moving to neighborhoods that were once untouchable. The young optimists become "urban pioneers;" cleaning up neighborhoods and making areas safer to live. The truly disillusioned feel that they are bettering the lives of those around them. Where they may be helping to increase property values, what they don't realize is that their true intentions (hidden deep in their souls) have less to do with co-habitating with the individuals that made that area what it was to begin with, but rather change that area so that their friends can move in next door. This is where the problems start...

Our young yuppies become targets and they don't understand why. Vandalism and harassment ensue, forcing the optimists into action. They need to decide whether they a) stand for the harassment as the neighborhood "changes" or b) stand up for themselves. A) makes them look like weaklings, b) opens them up for further harassment and there are no guarantees that either is going to solve the issue.

It's a shame that more can't be done to ease relations and help both the new-comers and the incumbents live in peace, but could that really be a reality? Are either sets of groups ready to make the concessions necessary to ensure that both sets are happy?

We've seen it before, and this most definitely won't be the last time, but when does it end?

Missing the man I wish he was

2008-07-30T10:53:00.002-04:00

This morning, I found myself writing a message to someone that shocked me. I was asked “how are you? You doing OK?” Simple questions, but in this case they were loaded. My response was equally as simple, “Yeah, I’m doing alright. I just miss the man I wish he was.”

I suppose to truly understand, there has to be some background. It’s been years since I’ve seriously dated anyone. Hell, it’s been years since I have even met anyone that I wanted to seriously date. That all changed on the weekend on June 20th; the weekend of the International Gay and Lesbian Aquatics Championships. With my team hosting* I had no expectations of doing anything but swimming and volunteering when possible. That all changed…

An adorable 5’5” blonde haired, blue-eyed boy, rocked my world. Sweet, simple, innocent and affectionate, this boy literally swept me off my feet and melted my frozen heart. After a fantastic night and day together touring the city, we each took flights to our respective lives; him back to Utah and me back to work in Arkansas.

My love affair continued via email and phone conversations for a week until I decided I needed to see him. Three weeks after our meeting, I flew out to Salt Lake City (SLC) for the first time and spent another fantastic weekend sleeping in his arms and getting to know him better. Although there were apparent differences between us, it didn’t matter. I ignored the yellow and red flags that were being raised and allowed myself to sink into my image of what we could be for each other. The weekend ended and once again I returned to Arkansas, unintentionally leaving a piece of myself behind.

Almost immediately, I decided we needed to see each other again. I booked another ticket to SLC and counted the 11 days until I could once again be wrapped in those arms and look into those blue eyes. This past trip, the flags were harder to ignore. The obvious differences became more obvious and the disparities in what we wanted became impossible to ignore. I realized that who I thought I was falling for was my imagination of who he was. The reality was very different. At no fault of his own, the boy who swept me off my feet quickly put me back down.
Strangely enough, I am not that hurt… at least not by him. I did this one to myself, but I also rescued myself. I caught myself before I got too lost in my fantasy to see the reality and recognized that, somewhere out there, someone exists who will match with me without either of us having to change our wants or desires “too” drastically.

All that said, I am OK, I just “miss the man I wish he was.”
______________________________
*meaning we were all running around with chickens without heads

Chocolate

2008-03-12T16:10:00.001-04:00

Everyone has these moments… times when our attention gets dragged away from what we are supposed to be doing and placed on to an event that consumes our consciousness.

There we were sitting in a meeting. Seven of us around a table in a cafeteria talking about the work on each of plates, discussing issues and working through dilemmas when it just happened. I looked up and for a few moments, I was lost… gone…..

It all started with a piece of chocolate and a boy. A boy whose face (and body) are perfectly formed; lips that couldn’t have been more full, more ideal even if they were created by the best plastic surgeon in LA or Rio. It was an innocent gesture that turned hypnotic.

He reached out and grabbed a piece of chocolate and the unwrapping distracted me from the meeting. I watched him eat it. Watched as it crossed his perfect lips and he gently moved it around his mouth; allowing it to slowly melt. Sucking gently, I watched as he moved that single piece around with his tongue. Stared as his eyes slightly dilated and he was no more in that meeting than I was. For the life of me I couldn’t stop watching; I couldn’t bring myself back from the captivation. In those few moments I, mentally, crossed any HR border that exists. I put myself in the place of that piece of chocolate and dreamt away. The reality couldn’t have been better than what I imagined.

A moments vacation at the most boring of times… all from a piece of chocolate that I didn’t even eat…Someone remind me to write a thank you note to Cadbury one day.

No excuses

2008-03-12T15:55:00.000-04:00

I’ve sat down a hundred times to write again. I’ve tried to allow my thoughts to flow from my head through my hands and onto the screen, but each time something doesn’t work. The thoughts get stuck, the feelings interrupted and my desire to speak out goes un-acted upon. It seems to be a trend. My actions don’t always live up to the expectations of my desires.

The Voices in my Head

2007-09-11T10:03:00.000-04:00

I feel myself teetering on the edge of schizophrenia. The voices in my head conflict; requests, questions, comments, ideas… They're a never ending flow of information bouncing from one wall to the other forbidding me from focusing on anything that I actually need to accomplish. At every hour of the day they pull me in different directions hoping that I will see things as they see them; pleading for me to pick-them up and embrace their ideas, their tasks, their desires and run with them. When I do attach myself to one idea, the others rebel.

They speak louder, stamp their feet, talk faster and attempt to prevent me from achieving anything. The sad thing is, they win. I end up staring at the blank walls of my cube allowing them to fight amongst themselves and hope that one voice emerges clearly from the masses as a leader. In most cases, I weed through the confusion to find something concrete to grasp hold of and rescue me from the daze of the un-orchestrated voices. Day-in and day-out they argue amongst themselves and demand my attention; they're relentless. I flirt with rescue in the forms of Lithium, Clozapine or another psychotropic drug only to be distracted by the voices pulling my attention back to their agendas.

Where do I turn? Where is the reprieve? How do I make them stop?

Wait, that's not schizophrenia, they're conference calls; day-long, constant conference calls. Now I know the solution… HANG-UP

Simple words that just…. Work

2007-02-23T17:06:00.000-05:00

While waiting for my flight from Toronto (after one of the longest weeks I have ever worked), I sat at the gate behind a mother and son traveling to DC. At first I ignored their childish interactions and tried to just gather my thoughts. I stared out the window to the runway and watched planes pass, allowing my thoughts to wander from one topic to the next; digging through layers of unfinished tasks cluttering my brain and all to soon found myself lost and a bit overwhelmed.

Almost as though for my benefit, the child ran around the row of seats and paused right in front of me, laughing a bit too loud, and dragging me from my reverie. The mother was not far behind and the following exchange occurred:

Mother, “I’m gonna get that hug whether you want to give it to me or not.”

Son, giggling again and running as if trying to escape, “uh uh, I’m too fast for you.”

“Oh yeah?”

They ran around repeating similar exchanges (and entertaining me) until the mother caught up to him (or he let her catch him), again right in front of me. She picked him up and folded him in her arms and said, “The best thing about giving hugs is that you get one in return at the same time."

For some reason it just hit me… It was brilliantly simple and right in line with what I was feeling… I needed to give a hug, because I wanted one. Simple, honest and it saved me from loosing myself to my unfinished tasks and doubts.

Nine hour trip to Toronto

2007-02-18T23:59:00.000-05:00

Consider this the beginning of an adventure…

From cancelled flights, mechanical delays, freakish whiteouts and two rounds of de-icing to extend what should have been an hour and a half journey into a nine hour journey.

I’ll set the stage: Terminal B at DCA (Washington’s National Airport) gate 16.

The cast of characters; now this is where the entertainment begins:

Characters 1 and 2: a mother-daughter combo with enough drama to rival Judy and Liza. The 10-year-old little girl, at first, appears to be adorable and easy going. However, after her mother begins a yelling spree with every Air Canada employee she can find, the little girl begins to enter ‘drama mode’ as well; mimicking her mother’s actions and throwing a temper tantrum about having to sit in the airport all afternoon. The mother (the real gem in the couple) is in her mid-forties and eager to let everyone who will listen, know that her son lives in DC, she sees him only three or four times a year and these inconsiderate Air Canada employees are “robbing her of precious time with her son.”

Character 3 – the light skinned black women (please note, she is Canadian, so I don’t know if “African-American” is the right term here) who has passed the many hours with me at the airport and has filled me in on her career (bus driver), her health issues (colitis) and her extended family (all living about an hour north of Toronto). In the end she sits halfway up the plane from me and tortures/talks at character 4 – a flamboyant, long-haired drag-queen out of drag (who provides his own entertainment with the antics of positioning his oversized body in the incredibly small aircraft and seats.)

Character 5 – the American shrink living in Ontario who is returning from the American Psychological Association’s governance meeting and who joins me in finding humor observing the other passengers. She is (most likely) a Jewish woman who exudes class and whose intelligence is apparent. She is the kind of therapist I would love to have.

Character 6 – the redheaded 20-something girl who attempted to flirt with me until I began reading my “Out” Magazine, proceeded to sigh loudly and turned to the slightly older, chubbier young man on her other side (they stayed united throughout the ordeal and were seen together at baggage claim… one can wonder where that might lead…)

Character 7 – the model-like dark-haired/blue-eyed Adonis sitting two rows ahead of me. The removal of his sweater revealed just enough of his six-pack abs and “treasure trail” to make my heart beat once so hard that I felt it in both of my heads. I’m surprised his head didn’t explode from the amount and intensity with which I stared at it and fantasized about him through the cracks in the seats.

Character 8 – the artsy girl dressed in all black (with a t-shirt that read “find your center”) sitting across the aisle and one row behind me. She comfortably curled up and read a novel thick enough to be the Encyclopedia Britannica.

Character 9 – My Trinidadian seatmate whose eyes twinkle when she laughs and whose voice lulls me into a sense of comfort and full disclosure. Returning from four weeks in DC taking care of her depressed brother; she is the widowed wife, mother and sister of professors from around the world. A calmness and serenity emanates from her in a way that puts the mind and soul at ease.

And of course – character 10 the casually dressed, unshaven gay boy, observing the world and engaging my fellow passengers with just enough witty banter to extract the pertinent information from them and retreat into my fantasies and pass the time.

All in all, not a bad way to pass the day and begin my northern adventure.

Day 1 – all over again

2007-02-04T22:34:00.000-05:00

The Springhill Suites in Edgewood, Maryland… What did I get myself into?

It is the night before my first day on my first client in my new job. I’ve been working on the launch materials for two weeks, assisting the senior manager and beginning to understand exactly what the project is going to entail. I feel comfortable to say, I still don’t have a full idea of the scope. I know we will have a strong team, but the learning curve and growing pains are going to be interesting to navigate.

It’s a change in lifestyle. I left my usual Sunday night crew to drive an hour and a half north and embark on this new adventure. I’m excited; I’m nervous, but most of all excited. I am sitting in my hotel room listening to “Grease, You’re the One that I want” and realizing that my goal is becoming a reality. Months ago, I set-out to find myself a new job. I’ve arrived.

People say, “be careful what you wish for”, I was and am happy I had the courage to make the wish!

The cute blond in the cube behind me

2007-01-31T10:19:00.000-05:00

It is 10 am on Wednesday; this is the first day in three weeks that I haven’t been running from the moment I arrived into the office. It’s a nice break and one that I am sure will not last. It is my fifth week in my new position and I am learning how intense client-service work can be and it is great!

Sure, I’ve been working long hours, getting up earlier than G-d, and reading more books than I have since grad school, but this is what I wanted… I am being utilized, I am being productive and I am appreciated (at least for the moment). We move up to the client-site on Sunday night and my life will shift yet again. It will take some getting used to: being in a hotel three or four nights a week, working solidly with a team of four people and interacting with clients who consider ME the specialist! I am sure I will love it.

Nikko has 1,300 miles on him (my baby is growing up so quickly) and he and I enjoy our 30 minute commute each-way to work; he’s a great listener and VERY dependable. I can always count on his blue “eyes” to calm my nerves and help me leave work behind. I don’t think he likes the traffic in Tysons so much, but he’s coping.

One of the real bonuses of being in a new office is being exposed to new people… OK, one new person in particular. He’s become my “buddy”, of sorts, and I can count on him for countless distractions and company at lunch. He’s adorable, my size, blond, blue eyed and sweet as can be. I don’t know if there is interest on his part, but a boy can dream… He reserves the spot next to me on a daily basis and arrives after me every day. Interestingly, saying good-morning to him every day has become a highlight of my day.

We will both be starting on separate client-sites come Monday and our daily interactions will be, obviously, limited. I’m going to miss him and I am going to have to do something to make sure I continue to have time with him… Now don’t get ahead of yourselves (yes, mother and dear knitter, I am talking to you), dating someone from work can be complicated and we don’t even know if he is interested.

I’m putting the wheels in motion and hoping that my intentions become clear, but not over-expressed and that he is receptive…

Meet Nikko!

2006-12-18T13:15:00.000-05:00

The Honda Civic LX wins! This is my new baby… alright, I may have wanted a boyfriend for Christmas/Chanukah, but instead I got something more reliable… a car! Isn’t he beautiful?

Why the name “Nikko”? Well… I needed to come up with a ‘fusion’ name: Japanese in honor of his heritage with a Scandinavian influence for my obsession with tall blonde hair, blue-eyed boys. He has been “environmentally protected” and is ready for his daily commute to my new office and/or a client site… there’s even a spare seat for that eventual/hopeful boyfriend. ;-)

Criticizing the ones we love

2006-12-18T13:09:00.000-05:00

For some reason, over the past couple of weeks, I have begun some major self-reflection. It began with a comment from a friend, “I am perfectly comfortable talking about any of you when you are not around because I know that you all do the same.” That statement is haunting… It’s haunting in a way that, at first, I couldn’t identify.

What came to me after a few days of silent reflection and internalization is that, I am not comfortable with that. I realize that people are going to talk about me behind my back and that I may (although I will now make a conscious effort not to) do the same, but I will no longer make any comment or observation behind someone’s back that I won’t make to their face. This, obviously, can complicate relationships.

I know that I have thrown the word “love” around in previous posts; I have expressed my belief that we are constantly surrounded by it and I have gone so far as to distinguish romantic love from friendship love. My question pushes the limits of “unconditional love”: at what point does unconditional love force one to just accept inadequacies of the object of that love and when does it dictate that we help those close to us realize the effect their actions have on those close to them?

It is obvious that we are often the most critical of those who are closest to us, but why? I firmly believe that this is mostly because it pains us to see those we love not living up to their potential.

Yes, I am saying that criticism can come from love and that it is a testament of that love that we feel comfortable enough to share it with them. When someone close to you is hiding their true light and inner beauty behind insecurities and false actions, it is seen as a direct affront to you (at least in your mind). You continue to love them for who they are, but slowly their self-facing attacks begin to eat away at the very bonds of friendship. At that point the options become few: 1) do you love and respect them enough to express these criticisms, 2) do you simply accept them and find away to keep the bonds strong, or 3) do you allow the bonds to slowly get eaten away and “fall away” from the relationship?

I am embarking on an experiment; I want to show my friends enough respect and care that I am going to try expressing how their actions affect our interactions. To distinguish, I am not going to fret the small stuff, just the actions that hit me at the core. Who knows what the outcome may be, I may end up alone or I may achieve my goal and strengthen those relationships that mean the world to me.

All in time for the New Year

2006-12-18T13:07:00.000-05:00

My office is packed, my whiteboard is empty, my in-box is clear and I am ready. The new job that I have been pining for is mine and I begin on January 2nd. I have closed out my current position and (perhaps with too much eagerness) have packed up my office. The excitement has built and I am over eager to begin with the commercial Human Capital practice. I am leaving behind some of the international focus I had, but am sure that it will return in time…

I am now faced with a dilemma: what do I do for the rest of the week? With my office packed, things closed out and no ‘real’ commitments how am I supposed to pass the days. I can’t take off (well, I could, but that would be a waste of PTO.) I have gotten good at Zuma, Text Twist and bejeweled (all available for free online) and am booking as many “good-bye/good-luck” lunches as I can handle. I know that in a few months from now I will have the opposite issue “too little time and too much to do”, but for now time is passing too slowly. ;-)

I believe in love

2006-11-05T11:57:00.000-05:00

I believe that we are surrounded by it, sustained by it and never meant to truly understand it. It is a force so powerful that it can keep one alive and kill them all at the same time. Its forms are endless and its definition impossible for us to understand.

It is the reason for our greatest happiness and the reason for our greatest sorrow. Over the course of any given day it intersects our lives countless times, but relies on us to recognize it is there. Unlike hatred its focus isn’t always obvious or pointed, it just is.

It can come in the form of a person whose caring glance can wrap up all worries or woes, or the simple smile of an unknown child. It can be something as simple as a stranger extending a helping hand, or as complex as an unspoken conversation between individuals who know each other so well that they don’t need words. It can be the soft caress of an animal at just the right moment, or a simple distraction when thoughts seem to be all consuming.

Love can come from friends, family, pets or strangers; it doesn’t always matter. It’s always there.

Often times, we’re so distracted in looking for love (or at least what we think love should be) that we forget to acknowledge the love that is always around us. In reality, it is a current that touches us all at every moment. Dead or alive we have the ability to give it and to receive it. In our hunt for “the perfect mate” we forget to realize that one has already been provided for us.

Love isn’t always tangible; one can’t always wrap their arms around it, but it’s always there. Memories, lovers, souvenirs, whispers, companions, friends, family; they are all love.

As a child there was a song my mother used to sing, “Love is like a magic penny/ hold it close and you won’t have any/ but lend it, spend it, give it away/ and you’ll end up having more.”

Why is it that as a child this notion doesn’t seem so abstract? Why are we so comfortable giving away affection and love at such an early age and not as adults? What do we forget and why do we allow ourselves to forget it that hardens our hearts and deafens our ears to the beautiful music of the current of love that is always around us?

Searching for a New Professional Life

2006-10-19T14:38:00.000-04:00

I’m 28, a majority of my friends are between 25 – 35. Pretty much all of us are college-educated, worldly, personable and dynamic. We’re talented, we’re attractive and yet a lot of us have something else in common; we’re not happy with our ‘professional lives’. I understand that that is not uncommon, there’s even a book “The Quarter-life Crisis” that puts a title to what we are feeling, but what’s at the heart of the issue? I can’t speak for us all, but I can speak for me…

I was always driven, focused and pushed the limits of what life offered. I spent my undergraduate career challenging the system, finding ways around the rules (which were simply there to make one into a clone of those who came before them) and won. I developed new study abroad programs, spent over two years and almost five semesters overseas, revived a dead major and met my goal “to speak four languages by the time I graduated” (which I still did in four years.) It didn’t end there, I moved to DC to explore graduate school options and found one that ‘fit’. During the two years I was at the School for International Service at American University, I studied International Communications taking an interest in cross-cultural communications and worked to find a way to use this within the US and the GLBT community. For the most part, I was happy, I was optimistic about my future, even though I was putting myself in some massive debt. In the two years since graduating, that has all changed.

I sit in an office (for the most part) from 9 – 5:30 (or there about), I work with a group of individuals that could care less about who I am, what I know or what I truly could contribute, I’m underpaid and undervalued. I started a job thinking I was going to be doing International Government Relations and have ended up in the world of auditing regulations, dealing with, but not interacting with, other countries and cultures. The drive that I once felt for life is not there; the excitement I used to feel while thinking about what the world has to offer is gone; in essence, who I defined myself as is disappearing.

Although I realize that it is not simple a job or money that will allow me to rediscover the inner me, I have to admit, it plays a huge part. The bottom-line is when what you do for eight hours of every day isn’t something you like or that fits you, it has an affect on your attitude.

Is this just life? Is it true what they say, “you aren’t meant to love what you do, that’s why it’s called ‘work’”? For my sake, I have to believe no, I have to believe that I, and my friends, won’t continue to wake-up every morning thinking “this is it?” I have to believe that the will behind the dreams that propelled me through my earlier life will thrust me into a more enjoyable future; one that uses my languages, the cross-cultural education and experiences that I love, and will have me waking up every morning shouting “YES! I get to do it again.”

I'm a new fan...

2006-10-18T12:12:00.000-04:00

Ok, I LOVE showtunes, and I love talented people who can sing showtunes. Case in point, this is Von, he's 20 years old and lives in Missouri. I was sent a link to this you-tube and can't get enough.

Thoughts?

>

Returning to Reality; on a bus

2006-10-06T17:03:00.000-04:00

(This entry is out of order and should have been posted on September 25th)

My birthday weekend has come to a close. As posted, I did wake-up with ‘someone’ on my birthday, but I had the added bonus of going to sleep with someone that night as well. It was unexpected (at least to me) and exactly what I needed…

He is British, living in Qatar and works for Al Jazeera. We corresponded a few times before he came to Washington over e-mail, but I didn’t think our paths would cross. Luckily, my travel schedule changed and we were able to meet.

Over the two week period that he was here I saw him several times. We had dinners, attended parties and went out together; not every night, but enough that I know I will miss him. The night of my birthday (and the night of the knitter’s party) was his last night in DC. I invited him to the party, and was pleasantly surprised when he changed his plans to be sure he was there. We spent most of the night doing our own thing, schmoozing, talking, but not with each other. The night came to a close and I found myself curled up on an outdoor lounge with him; the perfect way to end an evening.

The knitter and I drove him back to his corporate apartment, I got out to hug him good-bye and wish him a safe journey back to Doha when it came…

His blue eyes had a hint of sadness and disappointment, his head tipped a little bit to the left and he asked with his adorable British accent, “What? You’re not spending the night with me?” How could I resist?

We went upstairs, got ready for bed and laid there, talking, caressing…

The sun came up before I dosed off, I woke a couple hours later to him folding himself into my arms and thanking me for making his business trip to DC so enjoyable. We grabbed breakfast at Starbuck’s, said our good-byes and kissed on the corner of Connecticut Avenue and K St. He turned to head back to his apartment to pack and catch his British Airways flight for London and I headed to 16th Street.

It wasn’t until I was on my way home that it hit me; I had a two week fantasy relationship that lasted through my birthday. A time filled with dinners and stories of glamour and luxury and now I was returning to my life, my world on a bus…

DC DMV

2006-10-04T17:19:00.000-04:00

Now, I am going to preface this with the fact that in all the times I have gone to DMV I have NEVER had a horrible experience… this time was different and I now understand why people think they are inept.

In the mail, I received a notice for an unpaid parking ticket. Pretty standard for the District, but there is a catch: I sold my car and surrendered my plates in April of this year; the ticket was issued to my license plate in August.

Now, it doesn’t take a genius to realize that something is amiss. I called the adjudication services of the DMV who informed me that the system was showing that I had not relinquished my plates and that they were in fact still registered to me. The only course of action was to contact DMV, “excuse me” I said, “but aren’t I speaking with the DMV now?”

“Yes, sir, but you are speaking with adjudication services. Our system is different than the other DMV system and to relinquish your plates, you have to come down to our offices and turn them in.”

“Ma’am, I did that in April.”

“Well, I’m sorry sir, but the only thing you can do is come down and talk to someone.” And she proceeds to hang-up… I knew I was in for it.

Calmly I gathered my thoughts, grabbed the supporting documents and headed down to the black hole, otherwise known as DMV. I walked in and was greeted by a rather short line which moved very quickly; at first I thought my DMV luck was carrying on… boy was I off.

I was called up to the reception desk by this woman wearing a white short-sleeve button up sweater that was two sizes too small for her breasts. I explained the situation and showed her the documentation to which she replied “That’s impossible.”… Well, no, it’s not impossible because IT HAPPENED. She turned to her computer and began typing. After a few moments the guy next to her asked what the issue was and he said I needed to go to adjudication services to deal with ticket issues. I was still smiling at this point and calmly explained what I needed yet again. The two of them figured out which system they needed to look in and the man returned to his station. After a couple of minutes (and without resolution) the woman stood up and said “I need a cigarette” and walked away. That’s right, left me standing there with no answers, no direction and just walked off.

Finally, the man (who spoke softly and with the worst diction I have ever heard) came back to help and went off to get a supervisor. Fast forward twenty minutes, I am still waiting for a supervisor and the cigarette woman comes back and says “you still here?” At this point, my smile has faded and in my mind I am thinking “still here? F**K yes, I am still here. I’ve had no resolution, I’ve been waiting forever while you smoke and I am not paying for a ticket that wasn’t even issued to me.” She didn’t say or do anything else, she just returned to her seat and said “next”. (I think smoke was coming from my ears.)

A supervisor finally came out, spoke to me, gave me additional paperwork and told me to mail it to the adjudication services with an explanation and that this ticket would be cleared. That sounds all well and good, but when I asked if the underlying issue of that plate number still being attached to my name was going to be cleared he said “there is nothing I can do about that, so I suggest you keep this paperwork in case it happens again” and went back to his locked office.

I wish that was the end, but no, I also had to change my address. That took an additional 45 minutes and came with its own hassles: 1) the machine that prints the licenses was broken, 2) the man who fixes the machine (who was sitting across the room) was “on his break” 3) when it was fixed, my license printed upside down so they had to re-print it 4) once it was issued the man turned to me and asked “do you want me to change the registration for you vehicle as well?” “What vehicle?”, I ask. “The one with license plate BN………”

It never ends!

Fantasy fulfilled

2006-09-25T17:08:00.000-04:00

A weekend of celebration ends, and with it the fulfillment of a fantasy. I did wake-up with someone on my birthday; he’s adorable with big greenish blue eyes, he cuddles perfectly and let me know that at that moment I was all that mattered. He kept me warm, kept me company and set the perfect tone for my birthday.

Meet Simon, he was my birthday morning date:

Fantasies...

2006-09-22T09:59:00.000-04:00

Fantasies - we all allow ourselves to have them and I truly believe that we all need them to survive. There is just that vital balance between allowing fantasies to be an inspiration and becoming overrun by them. I suppose I succumbed to the latter this week and watched as the ‘world’ that I created came tumbling down. Ironically, it was not as painful as I would have thought. I should explain…

It began with an innocent introduction to a tall, blonde, attractive man in a suit (ok, we already have enough material for a fantasy, but I’ll continue.) At first, I paid no attention, he was a bit ‘out of my league’, or so I thought; apparently, he disagreed. The introduction led to conversation and the conversation led to an innocent kiss goodnight. Sweet, appropriate, comfortable and it blew my mind…

He left and it wasn’t until later that I realized: 1) I had no way of contacting him and 2) I didn’t remember his name. I did, however, know enough about him that I would be able to track him down. So, at this point we add mystery and ‘reliance on fate’ into the equation and a recipe for a disaster of a fantasy is born.

I spent the week envisioning conversations I could have with him, places I might run into him, creating the image of him into the “perfect boyfriend”. I should’ve stopped, I tried to stop, I failed to stop.

I finally could handle it no longer, so I returned to the scene of the initial conversation, a bar/club with a bartender who is a neighbor of mine. I entered alone with the intension of being met by a few friends. Before they arrived, I approached my bartender friend and asked if he knew the guy (by now anyone I spoke to about him knows him as simply “The Austrian”). Of course he did. As a matter of fact, he filled me in on the details: a player, 'not a closer’* and someone he would really like to see me steer clear of. In other words, exactly the kind of guy I fall for and exactly what I need to stay away from.

As predicted, The Austrian entered the bar (at precisely the time the bartender said he would) with his posse of admirers. Stunning he is, charming he is and dangerous. In the few moments I watched him interact with others, I saw what I needed to see. The assessment was correct; this is not the man I created in my head and not someone I needed to heavily invest in. I did speak to him and was equally as charmed, just not nearly as sucked in. He didn’t pay the same kind of attention as he had the week before (perhaps the three guys fawning over him distracted him enough) and the magic of the initial moment just wasn’t there. The door is not closed, but reality has set back in. My fantasy will continue, but reality doesn’t always live up to fantastical expectations.

*a new term I learned tonight meaning someone who flirts hardcore, maybe even enters a bit of physical interaction and then doesn’t follow through – no call, no date, just disappears.

“Desire love and love desire”

2006-09-19T18:23:00.000-04:00

I’m reading a book by Daniel Mendelsohn, “The Elusive Embrace”. (I promise this won’t turn into a book report.) In a part of it, he describes the duality of the gay man’s desire for a relationship. Simply put, he states that the gay man “desires love and loves desire” which leads him to the quagmire of his romantic existence.

How true is this? How many times have you heard a friend (or even yourself) say, “I’m really ready for a relationship” and not thirty seconds later, “Damn he’s hot, I wouldn’t mind taking him home for a night”? There it is, the classic example… We create the situations ourselves. So which one wins?

As I approach my birthday, I find myself returning to the same thought, “I don’t want to wake-up alone”. I can’t remember how long this pervasive thought has existed, but I always wish for someone to wake-up with on my birthday. The ideal, of course, is a boyfriend; someone who loves you, cares about you and is there to start ‘your’ day off right: a hug and kiss, spooning (maybe a little more), showering and giving you a few moments with just the two of you. In my mind, it sets the tone for the year, it gives you the confidence you need to start your day and year knowing that no matter what happens on the “outside” this support system is there waiting for you. This is my desire for love. More often than not this is what rules me. It sets the tone for how I approach dates, meet people and live life in general; it is long-term.

On the other hand, I love the game. The “rules of attraction” suck, but the chase, the thrill of getting to know someone, the wondering if feelings and attraction are mutual, the passion of an initial embrace… they all get me going. I have my own idiosyncrasies that get in the way, but I can’t lie and say I don’t have a love of desire.

Even so, and this is where it gets complicated, I believe that this love of desire can lead directly into the desire for love. I might love the game, but that is because I have known more of that than I have the other. In the moment, the chase is great, but I know (even if I have only experienced it briefly) that my desire for love is much greater, that these initial ‘thrills’ will lead to more intense excitement for me when I know exactly what touch/look/word will elicit a specific response in a partner.

Now it’s time to put my theory to the test, and what better time than now (4 days before my birthday)…

Dating – take it easy… Who are they kidding?

2006-08-28T21:38:00.000-04:00

Let’s do a reality check. The purpose of ‘dating’ is to meet someone that you could potentially spend the rest of your life with. No pressure there, right? Ha!

Come on, there is nothing “relaxing” about forcing people to put themselves on display and “sell” themselves to another. Companies spend millions (if not billions) of dollars each year to make sure that the public buys their image and their products. If we dwarf the budget a bit, how is dating any different?

Just like corporate marketing, dating is a game. It’s about putting your best attributes forward, downplaying the traits that might take a little time to get used to and placing yourself on display; all the while you are interviewing, perceiving, testing and gauging the other person… AND people tell you to relax? Ha!

Isn’t it funny that the ones who assure you that the pressure is off are the ones who are partnered/married/coupled and aren’t in the dating scene any more? Sure, they’ve been there and done it, but they stressed just as much as everyone else.

Don’t get me wrong, dating is fun and the excitement abounds, but there are times when I think our* ancestors had something right when the came up with the prearranged marriage idea. It simplifies the rules of the game, gives the participant no option and takes the pressure off to some extent.

I mean, who would I be to complain if my mother decided it was time for her to find me a man to settle down with? Anyone who knows her, knows that she has excellent taste in gay men and would be more than happy to marry me off to a hot one just to raise the beauty factor in the family photos. Yes, I am kidding… kind of.

In any case, the point is this: dating is hard, it’s a lot of work. One hopes that in the end it will be worth it, but in the meantime, let’s do all we can to help take some of that pressure off ourselves and each other.

*by our, I mean my Jewish ancestors

Eliciting Childhood Dreams

2006-08-16T11:06:00.000-04:00

As children we are taught to dream. We are instructed to create stories and fantasy worlds that entertain us and make life worth living. In the days when a backyard can turn into the surface of the moon, a rain forest or a fantasy island we (as children) smile. We believe that the world belongs to us and no care or concern is trivial enough to matter (except maybe how mad little Johnny down the street may be when he realizes we didn’t give back his toy machine gun.) We smile, we laugh, we cry and most of all, we believe.

As an adult, I find that that belief is harder to come by. My days are no longer filled with daring missions to the moon or escaping the wrath of the evil Lord _______ (you fill in the blank.) Instead I fight to remind myself that somewhere locked deep within me is that child-like dreamer; somewhere deep inside is that creative individual that can turn a rainy Sunday afternoon into a dream-like paradise. I sit behind my desk and attempt to make a difference in the world, but even that talented, youthful dreamer can’t convince me that auditing regulations are anything more than the dry, boring reality that they are…

Where is this going? It’s going to afternoons and early evenings spent locked in other people’s realities as I escape the life that is supposed to be mine , it’s going to the movies that have become my safe haven from the world that has become my reality and it is going to the question: what am I going to do about it?

I, much like I hope the rest of you will, am going wake-up the child that lays sleeping somewhere inside me. I’m going to take him on a trip to “mental Disneyland” where I am going to ask him to help me dream up a new reality; one filled with things that are going to make me smile, people that are going to help me laugh and tasks that are going to make a difference. It’s going to a time when I look forward to my days with the same anticipation and excitement that I used to have as a child, it’s going to that face that stares at me every morning and instead of saying “this again?” says “This again!”. So simple, yet so hard. Who’s with me?

Life’s little miracles

2006-08-14T17:35:00.000-04:00

It is often said that miracles are hard to find, I beg to differ. It hit me last night as I lie awake unable to fall asleep, that I am surrounded by miracles. They are my friends, they are the connections that I have made and sustained, they are the people that exist in my life and make each day special. From the people that I see and/or interact with daily to those that pop-up once in a blue-moon; they are all small miracles…

Each person on their own is unique and special, but the fact that we found each other, co-exist and are able to depend on each other for the little things (a hug when we’re down, a smile when we’re sad, the motivation to make it through the hard times) makes our interactions little miracles.

Perhaps it is just the rambling of a tired mind, but it’s in moments like these that I value each and every person that is in my life. Thanks.

Return to Fitness

2006-08-02T15:37:00.000-04:00

Ok, I made myself a little promise… Once I was able to return to working out/swimming/whatever my weak excuse for attempting to get in shape is, I would stop writing anything about my run-in with a few of the fantastic citizens of the District back on May 22nd. So, officially (I hope) this will be the last time I bring it up; it’s time to move on.*

I returned to the gym last week and began with my usual “dedication”. I.E. I went to a few classes (pilates, spinning, an abs class), began attempting to run and fooled around a bit on the weights. After almost 2 months of not working out, I figured I could “ease” my fat ass back into the gym and not give it too much of a shock. (Who am I kidding, I have never liked going to the gym; this is just another in a long line of excuses.) Much to my surprise, things were easier that I expected…

I had company (my fantastic and amazing co-worker , FAC), which made all the difference. The big surprise however, came when, after spinning and doing a circuit of weights, FAC and I decided to have our body mass composition done. I had VERY low expectations and was pleasantly surprised when it turned out that I only have 8.4% body fat and am still considered to have “an athletic physique”. Amazing! Granted, I still feel fat, but I’m sure that feeling will fade in time as well…

However, the REAL winner is FAC. In under 4 months she has lost over 30 pounds, dropped numerous waist sizes, looks amazing and is happier. A true inspiration. It goes to show what dedication, positive thinking and the right support network can accomplish.

*I reserve the right to rescind that and comment whenever I want, and since this was only a promise to myself, I won’t feel like I let anyone down if I actually do make future comments.

Dirty Diapers

2006-07-18T15:10:00.000-04:00

Night 4 of our time at the lake, the professional organizer and I had a bit of a surprise. At 1 am our door handle began rattling and finally opened to the youngest child of the HR guru and the hip dad walking in. He’s about a year old (give or take) with red hair and a round child figure. A bit confused, we asked him what was up and we greeted with the response, “I want this.” In his hand were those snack packs of cheese and crackers. If only life was that simple for us: 1 am, I’m hungry, my parents are asleep, I know where the food is and those two ‘new’ people’s light is on in the room across the hall…

Of course we opened the crackers and took him back into his parents’ room to find that they were not only asleep they were OUT… out as in so far asleep nothing could wake them. This is all well and good as we placed him in his bed with his snack and began reading bedtime stories (by the way – they’ve changed since I was a kid and are much more PC now). So far, so good. The kids happy, the parents are asleep and it looks as though he’s going to pass out at any minute. Then comes the look…

Anyone who has taken care of kids knows that look, a slight turning up of the lips, a widening of the eyes with a little twinkle and then the eye-brows go up before all of it gets scrunched together and you hear it… thwap. A poopy diaper.

It’s been almost 17 years since I changed a diaper. I tried to wake up his mother, the HR guru, I looked at the professional organizer and then resigned to my fate; a dirty diaper at 2 am. Granted, the kid loves his getting his diaper changed, I mean who wouldn’t: you have someone’s undivided attention, you’re getting cleaned up and best of all - you don’t have to do it yourself. At least he was cooperative and responded well to my questions, “Is that right?” (the saddest part was that at 2 am, I expected a logical response from a one-year old.)

In the end, I was reminded of the times I changed my brother and fell asleep with a smile knowing that 1) I can still do it when I have to; 2) I know at least one person was appreciative of something I did for them that day; and 3) I’ll be ready if kids ever come up for me in my future.

Establishing Traditions

2006-07-18T15:06:00.000-04:00

I often find myself wondering how modern day “traditions” come into existence. We have plenty of examples of traditions that just ‘are’: fireworks on the 4th of July (in the US; other countries have their own national day celebrations with fireworks); Christmas trees; turkey on Thanksgiving (again another US [and maybe Canadian] custom), but what really gets me are those smaller more intimate traditions that sneak up on you. Case in point:

I just spent my fifth July 4th weekend with my cousins (the TV producer and the word genius) at their lake house in Virginia. Like every other year we were joined by my other cousins (the professional organizer, the HR guru, the hip dad and their kids [as of yet too young to have identifying names on my blog.]) What get’s me is that this has become my tradition. Granted, it has been going on much longer than 5 years, but I am lucky enough to be included in this amazing activity…

What makes it so great is not only the company and the amazing atmosphere, but the comfort of knowing that every year this is what I am going to be doing. The invitation is open, the activities are always the same and the pressure is off. Sure, a lot of planning and preparation goes into having a total of 6 adults and 2 kids in a house, but once were there it all just… flows.

We spend countless hours lounging in or by the lake, eat (too much), drink (just enough), listen to great music, and most importantly enjoy each others’ company. It is the only time, in recent years, that we have all been together and it is for the right reasons; enjoyment, not trauma. Regardless of the baggage that is brought to the lake (unfinished work, personal stresses, emotional upsets, etc.) for the time we are there, none of it matters and by the end the support of the “family” has made those ‘little’ issues seem appropriately smaller.

I may not always be able to recognize when traditions become traditions, but I hope that all of them are as enjoyable and beneficial as my annual weekend with my awesome cousins at the lake!

Blah

2006-06-27T13:04:00.000-04:00

Compassion for oneself is not always easy.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not always the most patient of individuals. It may take me a while to make up my mind, but when I do, I want results! Apparently, that’s the same even when I am not in control…

Ok, I experienced “trauma”, but this whole Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) nonsense, is for the birds! I understand that my body and mind need time to heal. I’m willing to give them the space (and compassion) they need to do so, but not at the expense of my life and only for a limited time!

Physically, I am healing. I have a timeline: the neck brace is off, no surgery is needed and I need to “take it easy” for the next 2 months. Yes, 2 months… that I can handle. It’s concrete. It’s a finite period of time that is going to end and I will be able to return to my “normal” activities*.

On the mental side, all I get is “It’s going to take some time to get over” or my personal favorite “this may permanently have changed your outlook on life”. Ha! I don’t accept that! I refuse to believe that for the rest of my life I am going to have to open every door in my apartment when I come home, that the stairs to my apartment are going to make my heart skip a beat or that anyone walking behind me is going to make me feel uncomfortable. Not to mention this insane (and sometimes overwhelming) irrational fear of being hit; as in flinching when someone gets too close because they might hit me (I mean come on… how much damage can an 80 year old women getting on the metro really do?) I try and laugh, but the reality is, it pisses me off! My mind is betraying me: it’s forgetting things, it still refuses to focus sometimes and my once enjoyable fantasies of having a partner a family and multiple homes are being shrouded by fears of 80 year-old women hitting me. All this and there is no concrete timeline; no “in 2 months all this will be a thing of the past and you will get back to your normal activities**”

My friend the shrink keeps reminding me of the complexity of the human brain and assuring me that all this is simply manifestations of PTSD… Blah! I want my brain back!

*(taking after my friend [Cherry] Ride I am adding footnotes) by “normal activities” I mean swimming, the gym, massaging etc, but I haven’t swam in months so, that’s a small delusion of mine.

** just to clarify – the normal activities here would be the fantasies of a partner, multiple houses, a dog and a great sex life

Just in time

2006-06-26T16:10:00.000-04:00

One last night out before impending surgery; showtunes, perfect! A Monday night just like any other, only different.

I was there to cut loose and enjoy; nothing special, just a send off from some of my closest friends before a trip to San Diego that could’ve lasted a month. A no pressure evening where I could be surrounded by people who care and music I love. No expectations, just good company.

Then HE walked in; an image of pure beauty - 5’10 with a build that gave him the perfect V and a polo shirt that showed it all off. The Cowboy was there with me and we both noticed; no, we both gawked. I don’t compete with The Cowboy – he has it all over me and I love living vicariously through his exploits, so I encouraged him to make his move. Thirty minutes later we were all introduced to this object of lust and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. To my surprise, his attention shifted from the Cowboy to me.

Before I knew it, his hat was on my head, his hands on my body and my attention was all his. Beautiful blue eyes, shaved blonde hair and a smile to die for, conversation just flowed; my hands wandered and for the first time in a long time, I felt “chemistry”. Someone I was interested in was interested in me… just in time, just when my confidence in myself had waned, I was sent the kind of sign I needed.

The perfect age, brains to match the beauty and then the flaw… He’s from Nashville in for just a few days. The flirting was nice; no, the flirting was great… Now, the question: do I pursue? He’s in Nashville and I am back in DC. Do I call? Is it worth risking the fantasy just to see if someone who lives 1,000 miles away might still be interested or available?

Raising public awareness

2006-06-09T11:25:00.000-04:00

I made the news: http://www.nbc4.com/news/9345439/detail.html

I don't know how long the video will be active, but the story should stay up for a while.

When emotions come calling

2006-06-09T11:13:00.000-04:00

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks, two days, eleven hours and about 43 minutes since the world I knew as “safe” became invaded. That’s all well and good; I’ll heal, my emotions will heal… that is if I give them the space they need.

Hard to believe, but in all that time, I have cried once. Yes, once. There were many moments where I “almost cried”, where I felt my emotional world about to cave, but I held back, held it together and held it in. Not surprising; this is me after all…

The first cry was nothing special, a movie that always seems to hit me right in the emotional gut, “It’s my Party”. Those tears flow every time I watch; cathartic – yes, therapeutic – maybe, the cry I needed – no.

So, when does it come? Why does it come? Where am I when it comes? Answer – in my office, in the middle of the day on Thursday, because of a blog. An entry into another man’s mind, an entry all about “walls” and how they prevent us from giving people a chance to get to know us and my “walls” crack… no, they tumble…

The tears start to flow and they don’t stop… one after another line up on my lower eye-lids and they leak out of my eye. At first they are alone, just bits of salt water racing down my cheek, then that emotional volcano that has been stored up in my chest and gut starts to rumble… But, wait, I can’t, I’m in my office – too late.

The strength I’ve held onto as one bit of bad news after another gets thrown at me begins to fall out from under me; all because three muggers randomly chose me as their victim. You never know when it’s going to hit, but when it does you can’t always control it. Images of the incident, the support I’ve had since, the encouraging cards and calls, the care, the concern, the violation, the fear and finally the resignation – it wasn’t my fault, it will all be alright, but I need to give my emotional wounds the same consideration as I’ve given the physical ones.

Easier said than done, three minutes later and it’s over. The tears are dry, the volcano is temporarily subdued; not gone just dormant. It’d be nice if it were over, but I know this won’t be the last emotional surprise. Temporarily the walls have been replaced containing my wounds for another time…

All this because of a blog, a man in NY that I’ll probably never meet, but one who understands the human condition in a way most people don’t. We all have walls, won’t it be nice when I find someone who can help me break-down mine and pacify the volcano once and for all….

Family Dynamics

2006-06-09T11:12:00.000-04:00

It’s sad that tragic events need to occur in order to bring families (back) together. Think about it, how many times do long-overdue conversations have some variation of “I wish we had done this under better circumstances” tucked inside?

It seems to be a trend. It used to be that birthdays, anniversaries and weddings brought people out of the woodwork to celebrate. Now, funerals, medical emergencies and tragedy top the list. I’m the perfect example….

My divorced parents don’t talk. (Honestly, it is better that way since the ‘hard feelings’ haven’t completely dissipated.) The only conversations they would have had revolved around money or one person owing the other something; until now… Both my parents came out in support of me and in support of each other after I was mugged and beaten. This sentiment spread rapidly through my family. I’ve heard from my uncle in Hawaii more times in the past 2 weeks than I have in the past 3 years; my aunt in SD has put aside the animosity she has for me and called just to show support; my mothers cousins have sent cards; and the list goes on.

Don’t get me wrong, all of this is great! This is the way “FAMILIES” should be, but why did we have to wait until I was almost killed (ok, that is a bit dramatic, but true all the same) before everyone came together in support of each other? Even better, how long will this last and will it have to another tragedy that brings us together or can we begin to share the joy as well?

The security and comfort of friendships

2006-06-09T11:10:00.000-04:00

Don’t you love cliché’s? You know, “when life throws you lemons, make lemonade” or “There is always a silver lining.” Well I had a lesson in the latter…

No one can say that what happened to me was lucky, but they can say that what I learned from it was. The “silver lining” …

It came in the form of friendships. What was done for me over the last 2 weeks goes well beyond friendships. I was taken care of in a way that is expected only of families: trips to the ER at 2 am, multiple nights at my house keeping me company and warding off the ‘demons’, taking time off work, having impromptu movie nights and slumber parties, sending cards, running errands, and most importantly – making me feel safe. It was in the arms of my friends that I managed to recover so well. Without them, I wouldn’t be in such “good” shape now (and by “good” – I mean relatively speaking.) With this I learned what is TRULY meant by one’s “chosen family”.

To the knitter, the lobbyist, the cowboy, the shrink, the Brooklyn red-head and the Godfather - my eternal thanks and gratitude!

Becoming a Statistic

2006-05-31T16:56:00.000-04:00

Random acts of violence… a fact of living in the city? Not for me, at least not until last Monday night. It was a night were everything seemed a bit “off”. I was unsettled, needed to get out of my house, so I went to Showtunes… nothing unusual. The crowd was not filled with the “regulars”, but it was fun all the same. I had my fill, a little earlier than usual, and decided it was the perfect night to walk home. I’ve done it before; it takes about 20 minutes and would have given me just the right amount of time to catch up with my mother and get home in time to climb into bed. After all, I was 2 days away from my trip to CA for the wedding…

“Fate” had something else in store. I got to 15th and T and my mother realized I was walking home. Just to cover her bases she made sure she had the right number for my friend L the cop. I verified that and we discussed what she should do in the case of an emergency. I assured her nothing was going to happen, but just to ease her nerves I told her where I was. Two blocks later it happened… The worst nightmare for a mother 3,000 miles away and a nightmare for me. I was attacked from behind.

I’d love to go into the details of what happened, but I can’t remember all of it. It all kind of blurs together now: the arm around my neck strangling me keeping me from getting air or screaming, the guy squatted down on my chest demanding my money and threatening me with a gun, the other guy standing at my feet. I gave them my wallet, or maybe they took it from my pocket (I can’t remember), they took my cell phone (I believe my mother had hung up by then) they wanted my jacket, but the guy strangling me had the collar stuck in his grasp and he wouldn’t let go and then the hitting started. I don’t remember the pain, I just remember the blows:

1) he hit me in the right eye, my glasses went flying
2) he hit me in left eye and my already blurry vision got cloudier
3) he hit my nose; I heard pops, but didn’t have time to digest it before:
4) he hit me on the right side of my mouth

In my memory that was it… it was over they ran off, I got up and ran down the street to find someone, anyone to call the cops. A witness fills in a few of the gaps: http://cafe227.blogspot.com/2006/05/new-jack-city.html

I found someone to help, called 9-1-1 and waited. Conversations with several cops and a trip to the emergency room later I was left with a broken nose, fractured floors to both my orbiters, a chip taken out from the C-7 vertebrae in my neck, no wallet and no cell phone.

A week and a half later I sit in my office finishing this post (it took forever to write), still restrained by a neck brace, but looking almost normal… Now I ask, is what happened to me anything special or have I just become another statistic of random acts of violence in DC?

Eggs in a basket (part 2)

2006-05-21T16:14:00.000-04:00

A comment from Jo, a reminder that once again I have forgotten an important part of “love” and relationships; the other person…

Here is what she wrote:

“I was touched by what you wrote because it is so different from what I believe. I think LOVE is something you create with someone who mutually believes in the relationship. Love isn't something mysteriously out there like a buried lost treasure waiting to be discovered but a possibility lying within each of us available under the right circumstances. I feel like I just rained on the Romantic parade :-(“

It is through voices like Jo’s, ones that are not afraid to challenge and put their beliefs forward, that we learn. She’s right; without believing that I am entirely wrong, she has brought up an interesting point that I often forget: it takes two.

Her “challenge”, was not taken as a “rain on [my] romantic parade,” but an addition to it (and one that is greatly appreciated). Although I still believe that the potential for love could be around any corner, I see her point that it already exists within each of us. It is a matter of timing, it is a matter of commitment by both parties and most importantly it is something that everyone must be open to for it to truly happen.

Thanks Jo! The “rain” didn’t squelch my belief, but instead turned my head to an aspect I was forgetting and is giving the thought the nourishment it needs to truly grow.

LOVE is a treasure; not one that is lost, but one that is just waiting, within each of us, to be unlocked at the right time, under the right circumstances and with the right person.

Eggs in a basket

2006-05-19T07:03:00.000-04:00

I am often warned by my friends that I put too much emotional attachments into every day encounters; more specifically potential romantic encounters. At my core, I am a romantic. I truly believe that my heart, body and soul will find someone to connect with and that through this connection we will find love and the trivial life experiences will become easier to handle. I am not unrealistic to believe that all these connections will happen at once or be infinitely sustained throughout a relationship, but I do think it’s possible. I honestly believe that one can enrich their experience through a genuine connection with another person. Perhaps I have been “corrupted by Hollywood” or the imaginations of other idealists, but I allow myself the luxury of thinking that this kind of connection may be around the next corner. That’s where, I am told, I make my gravest mistake.

It is through this belief that I allow myself to look for small ironies that I can attach myself to and think the “universe” is sending me a sign. These inevitably lead to small heartbreaks that somehow haven’t managed to quell my hope for the “ultimate connection.” More importantly when I see/feel one of these signs, I shut out all options. I am the purest from of a monogamist; if I even sense the possibility of a connection, I will inevitably “put all my eggs in that basket.” Many times I have been warned and many times I have experienced this inevitable failure, but I don’t seem to be able to change my pattern. Perhaps keeping my options open would make the sting of the failed connection less, but then I am not giving my all and what fun is that?

Does it really matter? Will whether or not I put my all into every potential encounter really make a difference in finding “the one”? Who knows, I guess, time will tell.

Maybe I am making a mountain out of a molehill, or maybe I am just trying to prevent myself from being bitter about the fact that I am being stood-up… again.

Returning "home"

2006-05-18T11:27:00.000-04:00

What a perfect time to start a blog…

It is one week before I am going “home” to San Diego for a quick Memorial Day trip. The impetus of my voyage – my ex’s commitment ceremony, an event that, honestly, thrills me. He is an incredible individual that has found an equally amazing partner to share his life with. I feel incredibly honored to be sharing this with them and their families. Sure, a part of me is saddened by the fact that I am, once again, attending a wedding event without an official date by my side, but my time will come. In the meantime, I am not going to the celebration “alone”.

At my side (and attached to my hip for the weekend) will be my mother. Funny! Somehow she convinced my “PhD ex” (the beginning of names to protect the identity of those associated with me) to get invited to the ceremony. She is officially coming as my “date” since I missed the cut-off for having a boy to bring as my companion. It will be a blast! My mother is the heart of every party and, most often, the center of attention. She will be the highlight of our table and be additional entertainment for all seated with us. The trick for me in these situations is seeing her less as my mother and more as other people see her “an incredibly hip, liberal, out-spoken, fun women who happens to be the mother of a gay son.” The plus side of having her there is that I am guaranteed to have a blast, the downside – I will be with my mother for 36 straight hours… She will be there when I awake, she’ll be there through each and every day and she will be there when I fall asleep, for almost three days. Forgive me if I don’t sound thrilled, but 36 hours straight with anyone is exhausting, let alone your mother. There will be no time for high school friends during those days and limited time for anything where she is not immediately by my side.

Of course, this changes the dynamic of my time in CA and turns, what should be, a “Memorial Day vacation” to simply a “Memorial day trip.” The question becomes, “When does going back to the place you grew-up, stop being ‘returning home’?”

Don’t get me wrong, I am looking forward to my trip back west! I am sure I will have a great time. The trick will be in striking that balance between “mom-time” and “me-time”. I think that is what holds the key to “home”. To your parents, you will always be the small child that grew-up under their roof. Their definition of you returning “home” is you being that child, the object of their affection and their legacy for the future. Breaking free from that, realizing the duality of your existence in the place you grew-up, establishing YOUR needs (visiting friends etc) and reminding yourself that “home” is just as much where you choose to live as it is where you grew-up makes every trip to your childhood residence a true trip “home”.