An important letter

My Dearest Ron,

First of all, let me explain why I'm reading a prepared letter rather than articulating what I need to say directly. I need a little help. I have had a lifelong fear to ask for what I need or want. It's not rational, even if the person I'm asking loves me deeply and desires my happiness. I freeze with panic at the thought of speaking up for myself. You've witnessed my tendency to underestimate my assets and worth; it's frustrating for you and, even more so, for me. Without over-analyzing it, my reticence comes from how I coped with my father. It felt safer for me to be silent, stuffing my feelings and needs, rather than risking arousing his anger, disapproval or punishment. Obviously, you are not Dad and there is so reasonable or just cause for me to be afraid to express my concerns, desires and needs with you. I hope you understand why this time, I am reading this letter.  I hope to conquer my fear so that the next time I have something important to share with you, I'll be looking directly into your deep, sea-blue eyes while saying it.

What I want is my own car. (There, it's that simple.) Bottom, line, I want the autonomy, empowerment and sense of ownership that my own vehicle will give me. You have been loving, kind and generous to let me use your Yaris whenever I needed it. The arrangement has worked out for us and has been practical. But, this is an important matter for me. If I were able, I would go out and purchase the car I want and need. Presently, I don't have the means to do that, especially since retiring a year ago... with your encouragement, blessing and approval. Therefore, I am asking you to buy it for me. If you strongly feel you can't, I will have to put more time and energy into taking care of myself by returning to work so I will have the means to fulfill this need.

Ron, you know that since we met I haven't asked you for much. I intend this to be the beginning of better communication on our part. I've been anxious about how you will receive this, but my need for my own car is no small thing for me. Now that I've said what's been on my mind, I'm taking a big, deep breath, knowing that you want our relationship to grow stronger and deeper, and that you love me and care about me very much. These are feelings I return to you with all my heart. 

After you reflect upon this, we will talk.

I love you truly and deeply,

It's complicated

Yes, indeed. My relationship is complicated. Do I stay? Do I move on? Is it him? Is it me? Are there any more chances for me? Do I have to be happy or is happiness over-rated? Is unhappiness a red flag  or yellow flag? I am not in love with him. I am quite annoyed by him, in fact. Yet again, the man in my life embarrasses me. Did I chose him because I was desperate;  because I don't feel worthy of generosity; because I refuse to let go of my father's emotional abuse and control; because I am a doormat? I am returning to my old pattern of passive aggression and craving freedom. I am also still afraid to make demands or even just consideration. I feel unworthy of anything, anyone, better. We clash. I too often mute my feelings and thoughts, keeping them inside where they fester and swell. Why am I doing this again? I have relinquished my independence again as I fall into the expectation that "daddy" would always take care of me... but at a high cost to my personal happiness. Do I weigh the pros and cons and tally the data to see where the scale tilts? Not much in life comes without a price in some form. I feel disconnected from him, both platonically and romantically. I am withdrawing. I am not sure I can make this work. He is not a bad person and he means well. But, so was my father and he deeply injured me. I am not sure about what I should do; I am paralyzed.

I can be a lemon, too.

I was finally struck with the realization that at times I am the lemon souring my life. More specifically, it's my poor attitude, juicy with self-pity,  that needs to be transformed into lemonade. The other night I was watching an old Werner Herzog documentary about the Mezquitos in Nicaragua during the war in the 1980's. Immediately I saw through the lens of the real suffering of real victims by the injustice of a bad war that I am so, so fortunate. My address is Easy Street and I am not lacking for the necessities of life. But, I also have the luxury of a worry-free life and the blessing of excellent health. I feel like "the 1%" when I compare myself to the victims of the Sandinistas and to the peoples who are suffering today from injustice, violence, hunger, poverty, addictions, and pestilence. It's so easy to lose sight of what I have in our "land of plenty" and "land of opportunity", imperfect as it is for there are many who suffer here, too. But, taking it all into account, the Universe is taking excellent care of me. But... without lemons there's be no lemonade. Think about that...

Rocky Roads and Lemonade

I underwent a colonoscopy yesterday and I feel lousy. I have no desire to eat or drink. I slept and slept and slept and still just want to sleep, 24 hours later. My head is athrob in a vise-like pain across my forehead. My spiritual peace is not in balance, either. My heart feels uncertain about my love life. Unfortunately, my sad financial picture plays into this… but it shouldn’t. I have murmuring thoughts of coming out of retirement to be independent once more. I am not always happy at home with Ron. I am the one to blame. He is just who he is. He is earnest, authentic and loyal but my lifestyle expectations clash with his. Beggars can’t be choosers, so I go along with.  My wish is to be independently living and still have adventures with Ron. Oh, I don’t know but yes I do. My weakness gets me into these unhappy relationships. I’m at a low point, physically and spiritually and it will pass. This stretch of road is rocky but it will surely even out. It always does, and I will always know that I can make lemonade from the lemons in my life.

Walled-in

Shortly after enjoying my Sunday morning routine (sipping freshly brewed coffee while checking my emails, reading the NYT, seeing what three grouchy old men turned up on my senior dating site), all the more slowly as work doesn't beckon, I melted down while driving to, of all places, the yoga studio. A real meltdown like I haven't experienced in a long time. Instead of being grateful and accepting for how kind the Universe is to me, I felt like a prisoner locked away in a cell rather than a free human spirit with a bright, hopeful world surrounding me. The walls of the cell erected by my very own transgressions, resentments and regrets. No wonder I'm alone. I took a glance in the rear-view mirror and saw the flower of youth lost forever. Who would ever love me? Want to make love to me? It's one thing to be fifty-nine and still be with the man who knew me when I was full of bloom and beauty. Why am I even here? I blessed with good physical health... so far. I don't know. It just is. I just am. Here. On earth. I hopes and dreams are withering, drying up, evaporating. I'm getting more philosophical which I think develops as one ages. I am happier for others than for myself. I am happy for my daughters. Their lives and the promise they hold fill my heart with joy. But, my own spark is dying, dying, dying. What's the point? I feel like a failure because I don't see how I'll survive once I stop working. I can't retire successfully. I've made bad choices. My one hope for security, Randy, died. Left me nothing. Then it came to me why it is so important for someone like me to live in the present. I'll surely annihilate myself if I worry about the future and wallow in regrets of the past. I screamed in anger in the car. Why have I closed myself off from love? I started to regain composure when I reminded myself I am sober; how much worse it could be if I weren't. The feelings coming up were worthy of a drink or ten. But, I can't and I won't. So, I have the strength and wisdom to stay sober. That's positive. I try to be in the moment, not straying too far off-center, to keep my heart and mind in balance. I parked my car across the street from the studio. My body still writhing with pent up energy so that I pulled on the hand-brake as far as it would go. As I collected my yoga mat from the trunk, I collected myself, too. I had already made the decision to go to a gentle Yoga 1 class in lieu of the Pilates class when I woke up. Already the Universe was guiding me where I needed to be. When I saw Stella's drum and harmonium on the stage, I felt deep gratitude. Stella's voice is of the spirits. She was the yogi's guest this morning. Making a gentle decision for myself and being blessed with Stella's heavenly voice, I shifted my being -- from utter despair to hope and balance. I felt wall-in by my circumstances -- living in a rented room without freedom to fully be me, alone, hopeless. I still live a one-room existence and I'm still alone but I was cleansed by opening my heart to what is good.

JT & the secret of life

'Just want to share a line from one of James Taylor's songs -- "The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time." It's a sweet and corny but poignant tune that reminds me to be joyful and present wherever I am on my timeline this time around. 'Wish I listened much earlier. But, that's another reminder to be grateful for the moment.
There's more to the song with some beautiful turns of phrase, but I'll leave it right here.

For me, it's the legs...

Back to Nora Ephron. She attributed the loss of her youthful neck to being the unmistakable sign that she was past her prime. I've been lucky in so far as my neck is not wobbling yet. It is home to more spots and moles than it ever has -- the leopard effect -- but the skin is pretty much still intact. My legs are my abomination the reckoning that I am no longer a springtime blossom! I have no desperate need for a turtle neck, no indeed.  I need full leg coverage at all times. No matter that I run half marathons, hike the Sierra Nevada and practice yoga, the skin on my legs has the appearance of crepe paper draped over my skeletal-muscular physiology. Oh, and not to mention, the similarity my shins have taken  to an interstate highway map. Oh, I used to look so good in shorts --or, in the old, old days, a miniskirt -- but these days I wear shorts in the privacy of my own company.  What happened? Is it genetic? Is it sun-damage? Is it a side-effect of being fashionably anorexic in my twenties? Or, is it a combination of all three and the reality of Mother Nature's aging system? It's another nudge to get philosophical and grateful. It's what's on the inside that matters. Hey, my legs may be sagging, but they're still serving me well, whether on a twenty-mile hike at 10,000 feet in Yosemite, walking my doggie friends or supporting me in triangle pose. They work! And, for me, the saving grace is that my daughters have legs that rival mine. They're twenty-something with legs to die for! Long, thin, strong and... young. This is as it should be. I'm closing in on fifty-nine and the law of nature is quite simply applying itself. Oh, I never believed it would happen to me; that I would age. Grace is accepting the truth.

PS-It's the tummy, teeth, arms, and face, too!