I know that as human beings, we often want what we perceivably cannot have. The grass is always greener, sort of thing. And I suppose some of that is just that we want the pretty package without the underlying discomfort it may bring. Take relationships for example. You've been in a relationship with someone for a period of time, say even a few years. You have gotten beyond the initial honeymoon, gooey, "love you forever", smoochie phase and have moved beyond it to the "I don't mind if I burp in front of you" phase. You've seen each other naked and not just in the candlelight. Then you glimpse the greener grass (tighter ass?) and wonder, "what if...?" It's normal, right? The wondering?
I'm not at all saying that I want something else or that what I have is dissatisfying at all. I just think that this time around I want to be sure that this is "the one". Now, I have to say that I am not a believer in soul mates or the "perfect one out there" for each of us. I think that many people in our lives are potentials and could work out if both partners want it to. I've given up on the fairy tale and sometimes want to kick Cinderella in the head. I'll admit it. Because in my experience there are no Prince Charmings who will ride in on a white steed to rescue the damsels in distress. Get up, damsels, get yourselves out of the mess and be prepared to do your own battle with your own dragons! The princes are simply those partners who are willing to stick with it past the strike of midnight, the ones who are not enchanted by the pumpkin carriage.
Where was I? Sorry, random rabbit trail there. Anyway, I guess I am wondering how to know if I am with the person who will be able to be in relationship with me long-term. Are there any guarantees? No, I guess not, I'll answer that one on my own. Perhaps it is just the day to day choosing that makes it so. Sometimes it scares me to think of jumping into marriage again and I wonder if it might be better just to remain tentatively perched...perpetually "significant" to each other. But I want the whole thing, I want the kids, the shared house, the...but when? I'm not sure. My guess is that neither is he. So that's not so bad, then is it. Same place for the now and who knows about tomorrow.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
on my own
I spent most of the day today at Balboa Park in San Diego. I have to say this is one of the most beautiful spots I've seen on this vacation. The gardens and lush hills provide a backdrop for exploration that embraces me as I ride through on my bike. Traveling light, I had only an over the shoulder bag giving me limited space for purchases, something I will be grateful for when I get my credit card bill.
One woman in the United Nations Building was so open and friendly; I loved sharing a quick smile and kind word with her. The gentle greeting from her was a bright spot in my day and she probably won't even know about it.
One thing I noticed is that as a lone participant in the visit today, I had very little human interaction despite the numerous other people who were there. Even when I was walking within arms length of the others, we did not even share a hello. What does this say about our culture? I remember how the shop owners and travelers in Italy were open to visitors, almost encouraging an interaction regardless of any mutual background or heritage. There, we just wanted human contact and it arrived in the least likely of places. Sitting at a table in a local cafe, I found a quick, friendly conversation. This was not the case today. The only people I talked with were those who wanted money from me for purchases or for the Environment California group.
Wait, I have to add one other interaction. A boy at the Japanese Friendship Garden was excited about his new hat he'd gotten here in San Diego and wanted to share it with anyone who might be interested. He was developmentally delayed. What does he know that the rest of us have forgotten? His openness was refreshing somehow, a reaching out that I didn't even know I was missing.
What do I miss? Talking face to face with someone I love about nothing in particular. I am coming to the end of my vacation having spent tons of time with my family but it seems like the time was spent going and doing. I didn't have enough time just one-on-one. Some, yes, but not enough. I miss the quiet conversations. I think my favorite times were spent in my parents' hotel room talking politics or in my sister's room talking about family dynamics. I liked the times one-on-one in the car with my sister-in-law and the gentle conversations with my brother on the couch. I crave those moments. Is it that we are so busy moving that we end up avoiding the human connections and then we get so used to being disconnected that we begin to believe that is the norm?
So as I return home, what can I do to seek out the conversations I am craving? How can I find the friends who are equally interested in making the connections, long-term connections that I desire? More to ponder.
One woman in the United Nations Building was so open and friendly; I loved sharing a quick smile and kind word with her. The gentle greeting from her was a bright spot in my day and she probably won't even know about it.
One thing I noticed is that as a lone participant in the visit today, I had very little human interaction despite the numerous other people who were there. Even when I was walking within arms length of the others, we did not even share a hello. What does this say about our culture? I remember how the shop owners and travelers in Italy were open to visitors, almost encouraging an interaction regardless of any mutual background or heritage. There, we just wanted human contact and it arrived in the least likely of places. Sitting at a table in a local cafe, I found a quick, friendly conversation. This was not the case today. The only people I talked with were those who wanted money from me for purchases or for the Environment California group.
Wait, I have to add one other interaction. A boy at the Japanese Friendship Garden was excited about his new hat he'd gotten here in San Diego and wanted to share it with anyone who might be interested. He was developmentally delayed. What does he know that the rest of us have forgotten? His openness was refreshing somehow, a reaching out that I didn't even know I was missing.
What do I miss? Talking face to face with someone I love about nothing in particular. I am coming to the end of my vacation having spent tons of time with my family but it seems like the time was spent going and doing. I didn't have enough time just one-on-one. Some, yes, but not enough. I miss the quiet conversations. I think my favorite times were spent in my parents' hotel room talking politics or in my sister's room talking about family dynamics. I liked the times one-on-one in the car with my sister-in-law and the gentle conversations with my brother on the couch. I crave those moments. Is it that we are so busy moving that we end up avoiding the human connections and then we get so used to being disconnected that we begin to believe that is the norm?
So as I return home, what can I do to seek out the conversations I am craving? How can I find the friends who are equally interested in making the connections, long-term connections that I desire? More to ponder.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
life path
Sitting here in a hotel in Berkeley, I am reminded of the place this city has in our history. How people across the decades have protested, spoken out and changed their world by their words. And I wonder, what power do my own words have here. Do I embrace the luxury of free speech this country affords me? Do I use my words to make a difference? Or perhaps I have taken this right so much for granted that I have given up my own voice in exchange for complacency.
Whatever the reality, it ends now. I hereby make a promise to myself that I will no longer give up my voice, not to a culture that does not embrace my differences, not to men who would prefer that I fit some pre-determined mold, not to a church who has not yet reached out beyond the labels that feel comfortable. My voice is my own, and, frankly, may be the only thing left to my name in the end of this game called life. My words may be my legacy, and so it begins.
Whatever the reality, it ends now. I hereby make a promise to myself that I will no longer give up my voice, not to a culture that does not embrace my differences, not to men who would prefer that I fit some pre-determined mold, not to a church who has not yet reached out beyond the labels that feel comfortable. My voice is my own, and, frankly, may be the only thing left to my name in the end of this game called life. My words may be my legacy, and so it begins.
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