i'm no meteorologist

I once kissed this guy and lost all track of time.

At some point he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He opened them again and slowly turned to face me, looking me right in the eye he said, "wow, when it rains it pours." He shook his head slightly as he said this and gave me a little smile out of one side of his mouth. Then, we both pretended as if he had never said it.

That kiss launched what would be a year and a half relationship. It was a relationship filled with wonderfully good times and some I'd rather forget.

I really liked him and a small part of me might even admit that I loved him. I chose to ignore what he really meant that night in July when he talked to me about raining and pouring. It took a year and a half, but the reality of what he said on that first night was the final nail in the coffin we built for ourselves.

In the end, he was right though. When it rains...it definitely does pour. I thought about him tonight. I thought about what he said because it is pouring in my world right now. But, I am welcoming it.

While can I hear the rain and thunder outside my apartment right now...I'm not talking about the weather and neither was he. We just speak of very different rain.

Back Where I Come From

UPDATED

I write about my love for Chicago often. And, let me tell you...I love this place. I get antsy anywhere I live and I think about leaving. It may be a fight or flight type of thing. I'm not sure. However, I've only ever thought of leaving Chicago for a second. This is because the thought of actually leaving this place makes me more anxious than staying. I want to fight for Chicago, not flee it. It is my home, as if I were a native Chicagoan in a past life.

With this said, I am not from here. Originally, I was born in New Jersey. Don't think Jersey Shores. Or The Sopranos. Nothing like that. It is the Garden State for a reason. I am fiercely loyal to New Jersey and will defend it any day; however, Tennessee holds a place in my heart like no other. I've probably never admitted that before. It's true though. I've spent a combined 13 years in Tennessee...longer than I've ever been in any other state by far. And, while I moved from one border to the other and then back to the center...Tennessee is a home to me just as New Jersey and Chicago are.

And it is what happened in Tennessee this past weekend that breaks my heart. The Nashville area, which is where my mom and two brothers live, was engulfed by flood waters as the city had its highest rainfall totals since records began. People drowned and were washed away. Homes were lost and businesses ruined. Ten to twenty feet of water swallowed up landmarks. The devastation is really inconceivable to me. What is perhaps worse is that it is getting very little attention. It was and still is a catastrophe.

My family was extraordinarily lucky and hardly saw any damage. I am eternally grateful for that fact. With this said, those that were not so lucky are in my heart.

(Pictures via Facebook pages of friends and family and The Tennessean)

Just a few hours later....My mom used to work at a flower shop across the street from this car dealership. It was almost completely swallowed up by the flood. Oh, and as a note...this guy is kayaking on a street that is four lanes wide.

This is the LP Field, where the Tennessee Titans play. It resembles a swimming pool now.

P.S. I definitely listened to Back Where I Come From by Kenny Chesney as I wrote this post despite not being a country music fan. Oh, and then of course I followed it up with Tennessee by Mindy Smith. I cry almost every time.

in which i write about music...again

I've written multiple times about how I love music. You are probably sick of hearing (or reading) about it. But, I do. I love it. Music had me at hello. We are totally sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-Ging.

My little brother introduced me to this band and this video in particular. I will admit that I wasn't sold the first time I watched it, but I gave it another try. About 100 plays later I am enamored. It is amazing and beautiful and I want it to be my anthem.

'cause there is always a wrong to your right

and there will always be a war somewhere to fight

and god knows i've had some rough fucking years (ooh)

oh lord, oh lord, keep on keeping on

putting it back together...

My last entry was March 14th and I went silent. It was a picture of umbrellas in the sky and the title was, "When the sky is falling..." This is all information you know. What you don't know is the story and how I needed an umbrella to keep the sky from falling on me. Simultaneously, the sky caved in on me and the ground crumbled beneath my feet. And, I couldn't do anything about it...I was paralyzed by the magnitude of it.

For those of you who have read what I've written before or who know me personally, it probably comes as no surprise. I struggle at times with some intense anxiety and depression. I would give the world to be able to remove it from my being. To sit in a place of serenity and remove clouds of doubt and unrest. I would love to know what it feels like to have no demons to fight or cross to bare. This isn't something I can do though.

I mask my feelings pretty well a majority of the time. I have it down to an art. I know how to fool even those who are professionals at removing the mask. I say I am fine and will laugh it off. This is not to say that I don't know how to be happy and I don't sincerely laugh and enjoy life. I most certainly do....but, when I wear the mask it is difficult to see beyond.

There was no hiding this though. I was shattered and people were finding out. I lost the energy to wear the mask or to pretend. It became piercingly obvious. The self doubting part of myself wanted to believe that no one would take notice or even if they did they wouldn't act. How could they? Why would they? I don't quite know the answer to those questions. What I do know is that they did. They told me I wasn't okay and had to do something about it. They offered to stay with me. They sat on the phone even when I was silent. And, they picked me up. Both figuratively and literally. Despite all efforts to push it away, I was showered with love. It was an outpouring I could never repay or even begin to express the extent to which I am forever grateful. When I was sinking I didn't just have a life preserver thrown to me, but people jumped in after me.

I can't make a false promise and say I am all better and the sky is hung right back where it is suppose to be. It isn't. I have to be honest. The ground is still unstable. But it is getting better every day. What I am learning to accept is that I can not count on some, but there are others who will go to the ends of the earth for me. And, I just have no words for that...a very rare thing.

I'm a story teller. I talk. I write. I love the experience of sharing. I love details and often get wrapped up in them. When I was a little girl, my parents would hurry me along and say, "get to the point," because my stories were inevitably twice as long as they needed to be. I'm not a "point" kind of girl. To me, it is the process of getting there that makes it worth it...not the actual point. I want to draw it out...experience it. I want to take as long as I can getting to the point.

So, while I considered ending this whole process of sharing and writing publicly...I couldn't stop. I am back. Not to write some sad blog about being sad, but to be honest. Share it all. And, that is what you will find here. Good, bad, ugly, weird...all of it. It will be the continuation to my journey.

I give you my story...there will never be any long story short about it...

stroke of genius

About a year and a half ago I watched a video on TED.com where Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor, a neuroanatomist, discussed a stroke that she had in December 1996. She spoke of the two hemispheres of our brains and the different functions they are responsible for. As she shared her story of the morning of her stroke, she discussed how she became acutely conscious of those two functions: the right hemisphere that connects us as beings of the outside world, where we are "at one with all that is;" and the left hemisphere that allows us to recognize our beings as being individual from all else that is in the universe. During her talk she discussed how the left hemisphere of her brain was effected by the stroke, yet tearfully shared the positive experience of losing the ability to separate herself from the universe and live (if only for moments) in a space where she was truly connected to all that is.

At the end of her talk she challenged those in the audience to make choices regarding which hemisphere we allow to guide our lives. She questioned the audience as to what they would choose. She stated, "I believe that the more time we spend choosing to run the deep inner peace circuitry of our right hemispheres, the more peace we will project into the world and the more peaceful our planet will be."

It inspired me. At the time, I was experiencing stress at work and it reminded me again why I chose to be in a helping profession. It reminded me why I chose to go to work each day.

It seems as if eons have passed since that reminder. I'm not exactly sure what path I am supposed to take in life. What I do know is that I hope to be a part of a large change in the world. I want to make great waves and leave my footprint. I want to leave things better when I leave then when I enter a space...this space...any space. While I feel lost on how to make that happen, I am reminded that I need to find a way to figure it out. I need to reconnect.

Here is her talk. I think it can change your life:

outlook not so good...

I apologize in advance. I am going to be Negative Nancy for a second here. I am working on finding a solution, but part of that solution for me is being able to get it out in some form or another. So, bare with me for a moment and I will get back to happy nothing little posts soon.

Have you ever really followed your gut and had it be wrong? I think I am sitting in a place of recognition that my gut lied to me. But really, I'm not even sure it was my gut that lied. Perhaps my gut was telling me what to do the whole time and I just ignored it. I'm not even sure anymore. I'm not sure how to trust myself to know the difference.

I'm usually one of those people that once she makes a decision, stands firm in it. And they are usually really good for me. It's true that I can be indecisive and take time to weigh options, but when I take that leap...when I decide...I'm all in. There is very rarely a moment of turning back wondering if I took a wrong step.

I'm looking back now.

I hate this feeling. I am disappointed in myself. Embarrassed. And I feel broken because of it. I have this desire to have someone swoop in and rescue me or be there for me, but at the same time I am so afraid of hearing "I told you so," that I don't even know how to begin to ask for support. I just want to drown in this feeling because I don't know how to make things right.

a pee in your pants kind of love

Emily from Emphasis Added! posted this on her blog...cutest thing ever!

This may just be the cutest thing I've ever seen. Apparently, this couple has been married for 62 years (he is going to be 90 years old this year) and they are still getting into trouble and having fun with one another. They walked into the Mayo Clinic for a checkup, spotted this piano, and got down to business.

I used to worry about love. I didn't think it really existed. I didn't trust it. And, I lied and said things like, "I don't believe in true love." Or, "I don't really want to get married." The truth is, I desperately want to believe in love. I want to trust love. And, I want to get married. You see, what I was doing by saying those false statements was masking my fear. I'm scared of love in a way. I don't trust it because I know that love can be amazing and powerful, but it can also be hard and painful. Also, as a single woman I feel this pressure to be independent and reject a pining for love. I don't want to be "one of those girls." Whoever they are. Those girls who talk about falling in love and getting married and plan their wedding before a groom even enters their life. I just don't want to be "her." However, I am slowly learning and accepting that it is okay to be both independent and want love. It is okay to say out loud that I want to be loved, that I want to be married, and that it scares me at the same time. It just isn't okay to push it away anymore just because it terrifies me.

I want to be part of that couple that is married for 60+ years getting into trouble and making a scene because of we love being silly together. I want people to think and write about how they want a love like the one I share with my husband. I want to never stop talking and having fun. I want to stay young as I grow older with my partner. I want to play the piano at the Mayo clinic and pee my pants because I am laughing while I do it. (Come on, you know she was peeing a little...it happens.) I want that. I want what they have. Love.

I just need to learn to play the piano first.

i'm leaving on a midnight train to georgia...

....okay it is really a 6:30pm train and I am going to New Jersey, but it sounds better saying it that way.

Yep, I can't wait! I am also jazzed about this long train trip. I know. I am crazy. I have two Netflix movies and three books and plan on updating my iPod. Even though, if I am totally honest, I will probably sleep for a good 85% of the 23 hour trip. That's right. I can sleep for a really long time. Deal with it.

Before I leave I need to do laundry, wash probably every dish I own because they all sit dirty in my kitchen, change the sheets on my bed, clean up the mess I have made of my apartment, and pack. Just a few things, ya know? So, what am I doing right now with this long To Do list waiting to be completed? Lounging my my office (i.e. my bed). Have I said before how much I enjoy not working? If not, I heart not working.

I came across this a few days ago and couldn't put it out of my mind. Sometimes the most simple of signs are the ones we need to see the most. And, when we need to see them, they make an impact.

This whole unemployment thing that I've been doing for the past couple of months has been an interesting journey. It is odd. I have almost forgotten what it is like to actually get up for work and have a daily responsibility. My weeks generally revolve around two or three different commitments. After that, the rest is up to me. Regrettably, I have not been making the most of that time. I will say that I have a tendency to be very hard on myself. Extremely. Hard. In the past couple of weeks I have been struggling with my purpose. I put a lot of stock in my purpose in life...the footprints I leave in this world. I've begun to fear that no matter how hard I walk right now...those footprints are non-existent. It's one of my biggest fears.

I will admittedly share that I am not really looking for a job, which makes it a little difficult given that I put a lot of emphasis on my career to give my life purpose. The fact that I am not even looking is much to the chagrin of some of my closest friends and some family members. There is a reason for my decision though. In addition to putting stock in leading a purpose driven life...I put an equal amount in happiness. I fear that I won't find happiness if I just seek out any random job that will hire me. I want to find it within. What better way to do that then to have all the time in the world to discover it?

You see, if I were a betting woman I would say that all my chips get evenly split between purpose and happiness. I just truly believe that when you do that...all in...the returns are tenfold.

For those who are concerned, I do have a plan. I'm working with two great friends on a start-up company, which I am over the moon excited about. I really do believe that it will be a great thing and afford all of us some amazing opportunities to be happy, creative, playful, energetic, free, expressive...

So, in the mean time, I wait. I've had big plans to do this "Month of Emily" thing. I've wanted to focus on discovering happiness, taking care of me, and doing good things for myself. For some reason, it just seems to get fucked up on day two (okay maybe one) every time I try. It is just that in this time I have a lot of varying emotions: excitement for what may be, anxiety for what currently is, paralysis from fear, and a host of others. They seem to get in my way.

Perhaps the trick is simply saying it out loud (or as out loud as the blog allows). Today, is day one of the "Month of Emily." I will work on making sure I don't hold back on any of my proverbial chips and place them all in happiness and purpose. Holding back gets you in trouble.

As simple as that sign is, it was just what I needed to see. Everything is going to be amazing. I don't need to worry. All I need to do is play my part in making it a reality.

...pants on fire

I would like to say, "I never lie." However, saying that would in and of itself be a lie. That's right, I lie, so do you. And according to a researcher at the University of Massachusetts, whose report has sat as an open tab in my browser for far too long waiting for me to write this post, a reported "60 percent of people lie at least once during a 10-minute conversation and tell an average of two to three lies." If you do the math for a whole day...it's a lot of lies being told.

The study speaks about the differing content of the lies of women versus men. One being to make another feel good and the other being to make the liar look better. The study found "women were more likely to lie to make the person they were talking to feel good." I get this and think that it has been the motivation for a great number of the lies I've told in the past, "I love it!" or "You were the best I've ever had," etc. But, I think that is only half of the truth. Women lie all the time to make themselves look better. (see: makeup, fake eyelashes, hairspray, Spanx, push-up bras, etc.) If you ask a woman how much she weighs (note: DO NOT EVER DO THIS), I have my money on the fact that she will lie.

We all have our own motivations for being dishonest, but I began to think back at some of my most notorious lies. Now, I am not a huge liar. I think honesty is the best policy and I have a very guilty conscience. If I lie, I quite often come back and tell on myself. But, I do have one lie that I told that still makes me giggle to this day. The ridiculousness of it is outstanding. And, it was all told in the vain of looking better.


My family moves. A lot. Or, moved. A lot. Growing up I went to eight different schools before I graduated from high school. My parents had this extraordinary knack for finding the least opportune time to uproot our lives. It was usually just as I was getting used to our latest destination. Seventh grade, which is also known as the worst grade ever. Everyone in seventh grade is ugly and awkward. It is this pit of hormones and puberty and none of it is pretty. We moved in October during my seventh grade year. Everyone was settled into their school routine and cliques already were formed. Then, I bust up on the scene. Let's just say I wasn't Ms. Popularity when I arrived. The kids in the upper class community in Memphis, Tennessee were very different than the kids I went to school with in South Florida. They were very different than me. Or, I was different than them...whatever. Anyway, I made one really good friend- April. April lived just down the street from me and we had a lot in common. We began to talk on the phone and hang out. We'd go on walks in the neighborhood and trespass on the golf course that backed up to our subdivision. She was a welcome distraction from my normal activities of going home and crying and complaining to my mom about how I hated Memphis and wanted to move back to Florida. There was one very big difference between April and I. She smoked. I didn't. Enter: My Lying.

I cooked up all kinds of excuses for why I couldn't smoke with her in my head, but when it came down to that moment where she offered me a smoke all rational lies flew out the window. I panicked. I was like a deer in the headlights. Paralyzed. I blurted out, "I used to smoke, but I quit. I don't want to start back up." What? I love the image of me being some hard core smoker in fifth grade and having to kick the habit and go on the patch. She responded, "Oh, that's cool. Yeah, I should quit some time." Wait, she bought it? Or did she? Were we both staring at each other lying our faces off knowing that the other one was just as much a liar as we were? Was our attempt to save face so desperate that we would tell and accept any lie? Apparently, yes.

This lie went on for well over a year, basically until our friendship started to fade and she started taking prescription pills for fun. She was well ahead of me. It would be years before I did this.

Anyway, it makes me laugh because I wonder what would have happened if my seventh grade self had just looked her in the eye and said, "No, I don't really have any desire to smoke." Life would have probably been easier. You see, if I had the courage to say that to my one friend, I probably would have had more than one friend. If I had the attitude of "take me or fucking leave me," I probably would have surprised myself how many people would chose not to walk away. They (whoever "they" are) say that nothing is more attractive than confidence. That could be a lie, but I buy it.

While I have more confidence than that seventh grade girl I once was, I still think we can all learn a lesson from her and her mistakes.

What would happen if we stopped looking for acceptance in lies? How would our lives change if we always told the truth...no matter what? Is honesty always the best policy?

tweet all about it...

Has it ever happened that you read something or see something and you can't even get the words out to discuss it because you have so much to say? You think about it in the shower and over morning coffee. When you fall asleep you can't get it out of your head. But, despite your propensity to be overly verbose and share more than anyone ever asked you to...you can't even talk about its magnitude. I'm not sure if I am alone. Perhaps I am. Sometimes things happen or I read something and I just ruminate over it for a while. I know. It may come as a shock to some of you that somethings render me speechless.

Now, to just quickly get it out of the way, I wasn't all up in arms about how someone could dare tweet about miscarriage or abortion. I wasn't passing judgement or planning out carefully crafted insults. No, I was more in awe.

I have to be honest that I first came across this tweet while reading one of my favorite blogs: The Rest is Still Unwritten. Apparently, more than the world wide web was abuzz about this tweet heard (or read) 'round the world. That's right, CNN even got in on the action by having Rick Sanchez interview Penelope. And, it was this interview that rendered me speechless.

Mr. Sanchez began the interview by saying, "I'm gonna ask you a tough question, young lady, do you have no shame?"

Besides the fact that the host of a show on CNN referred to a 42 year old woman as "young lady," which I have a feeling was more out of condescension then respect...and that he asked, "Did you literally just have it? Or, did you excuse yourself?" (referring to her miscarriage as if it was a moment in time sort of thing) I guess I am speechless because this stirred so many emotions up for me. And, I am left to wonder why it is that people can't tweet about miscarriages or abortion. Really, when we boil everything down, why tweet about anything? Does the world really need to know this?

Or what about this earth shattering news?



You see, no one needs to know anything that anyone tweets about. Twitter is there. People use it. Why is there suddenly some unwritten rule that says you can tweet about what you made for dinner, but you can't talk about a very personal experience. Why is some stuff off limits?

And, I get it. Really, I know the answer to this. I'm not that naive. I understand that some people believe that there are topics that are to be kept private. But really, why do others get to set those rules for us. Why are we made to feel that there are some things we can share, but others we can't. What if we want to share them? What if we need to share them?

We live in a time where we don't keep much private. Or perhaps it is more fitting to say that we view privacy differently. I don't even know the names of my neighbors, but I know the life stories of people that I've never even met because of TV and the Internet.

So, why is it that we are shamed for making choices about how we share our own lives? Why do others get to set the rules for our lives? Why do they judge when we choose to set our own rules?

That may have been the kicker for me. It may have been the way that Rick Sanchez said, "...do you have no shame?" Why? Why do we have to feel shame in sharing our life experience. I won't tweet or blog or post about the personal business of others on my Facebook status, but why can't we decide on our own what we give of ourselves?

I'm a huge proponent of sharing the personal experience. Probably to a fault, at times. I think you should discuss things. Get it all out. Say what you feel. I do believe that the best way to do that is through face to face interactions, but I also find great catharsis in doing it through the written word. And, in the world we live in today...the written word usually has an http:// before it. There should be no judgement in that.

So, this may have been all over the place, but the point is that I was speechless because I felt so many things. While I was in awe of Penelope's free expression of her own personal experience, I was sad because I was reminded that we shame each other for the human experience. There is no one person to point the finger at, but the truth is that at times we all contribute to the shaming of others for experiences that are out of their control or feel larger than us.

I remember posting something a while back and having a conversation about how I didn't need my family to read it because it said something about sex or something. The response I got was, "well, why put it on the Internet?" It was a valid response, but what I responded with was that it felt good. It sometimes feels good to get things out that are taboo and ugly in the eyes of others. Life isn't always beautiful. And, if that makes others uncomfortable, I'm sorry. Sometimes, there is more than just the pretty stuff to share. We sometimes experience hurt, abuse, miscarriages, abortions, depression, anxiety, pain...and sometimes we just make ravioli for dinner. It's life. There should be no shame in any of it.

Never, ever, ever, ever...

On October 29, 1941, United Kingdom (Great Britain) Prime Minister Winston Churchill visited Harrow School to to hear the traditional songs he had sung there as a youth, as well as to speak to the students. This became one of his most quoted speeches, due to distortions that evolved about what he actually said.

The myth is that Churchill stood before the students and said, "Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, give in. Never give in. Never give in. Never give in." Then he sat down. In reality, he made a complete speech that included words similar to what are often quoted.


There is a part of me that thinks these words could not be more perfect. However, the other part thinks that giving in can sometimes be the best and most freeing thing.

What should one do? Should you always stick to your guns and never back down? Or, do you open yourself up to something other than what you always stood firm on and allow for a new reality to set in?

#2: Jump Right in...

Clearly there is a purpose to dating. For most people, there is an objective. As I typed that last sentence, I felt it important to recognize that the objectives of people can be very different...some could be looking for a free meal, others a relationship, or some could be looking for "a good time" if you know what I mean.

My objective, if you will, is companionship or maybe all of the above. It would be nice to find someone I enjoy spending time with. It would be even nicer if the feelings were mutual. So, I guess the hope is that we both like each other enough that we want to keep spending time together and something more develops. Now, I'm not one of those girls fantasizing about my wedding. I don't have some weird scrapbook with wedding dresses cut out and cakes and flowers that I like. No, I didn't start imagining my wedding when I was five. It's just not me. That isn't to say that I don't want to get married one day. I do. I like the idea of loving someone for the rest of my life...and vice versa. But, I also am not in the wedding race that some people my age seem to have entered.

Oh, and let's be clear...this race is not exclusive to women. No, no my friend. Men have taken their number and put on their running shoes in this race to the alter. Exhibit A:

Our first date was fun. We went for drinks and tapas. We had good conversation and some good chemistry. We hopped around from bar to bar for a little while and on our last stop we sat at a table, he tucked my hair behind my ear telling me how much he enjoyed being with me and gave me a kiss. It was sweet. He offered to walk me home, but only after he asked me to come over and "watch a movie." Cute right? It was about 1am. We ain't watchin' no movie. I was very proud of my self control when I said, "No," because at this point I was feeling somewhat intoxicated. He walked me to the door, kissed me some more, asked if he could come in, I said no, and he left...saying he would call me. What happened next was weird. It was morning. Right, one minute I am saying goodbye and the next memory I have is waking up...in my roommate's bed. (She was out of town.) I have no idea how I got there or why I was in there. My jewelry was on her dresser. It looked as if I walked in like I owned the place and just went to bed. Odd, right? In hind sight, I was probably roofied because I didn't have THAT much to drink and I've only blacked out once in my life...and I learned my lesson. This was not drinking black out.

Regardless, we went out again. I make poor choices. I think I said that before.

On our second date we went to this awesome restaurant and had a pretty good time. Although, he did ask me some odd questions about kids, when I wanted to have them, etc. Later in the night I agreed to go back to his place for a drink. Just a drink. Gosh boys and girls, I am a lady. We just kissed. I think.

But, sitting on his couch kissing was when it happened.

Date: I really like you.

Me: Thanks.

Date: No, I really like you. I've had a good time with you.

Me: I know. Thank you. I've had fun hanging out with you too.

Date: Like, I want you to be my girlfriend. What do you think of that?

Me: Uhm. Thanks. But, you don't really know me.

Date: Is there something I should know?

Me: Yeah. Do you even know my last name?

Date: Well, no. But, I know that I really like you and want to date just you.

Me: I'm not trying to be bitchy, but you don't know me enough to want me to be your girlfriend. You may get to know me better and change your mind...I may change my mind. Let's just get to know each other.

Date: It's just that I really like you.

Me: Thanks. But...

Date: So, no girlfriend.

Me: No girlfriend right now.

I get that it seems like perhaps he was just trying to sleep with me. Maybe he thought that would work on me. Clearly it didn't. But, I don't think that was the case. It became apparent that he was serious. Just wait.

As stated before, as stated before I sometimes make really bad choices. We continued to see each other and his push toward a serious relationship continued. His jealousy kicked in too at some point. He made weird comments about my roommates- two of whom were guys. Saying weird stuff, like how I should lock my door at night because they were probably trying to sleep with me. P.S. They weren't. He would also make comments about waiters or guys at bars. Oh, and not even a month in he made some comment about me fitting in nicely with his family...who I had not met.

Shortly afterwards I ended things with him. It all got too weird. The potential roofie incident. The asking me to be his girlfriend on the second date. The jealousy. The projections about "our" future. We didn't have a future.

Perhaps he wasn't racing to the alter, but he was racing for a commitment of some sorts from me. And, it freaked me out. I took some time off after him to figure out if it was the commitment that freaked me out. Or was it him? In the end, I realized that it was clearly him.

I spent some time feeling bad. Like, perhaps I should have jumped at the opportunity to be in a relationship. But why is it not okay to be alone? Why did I even make myself feel guilty for choosing to be single over entering a bad relationship? I like being single most of the time. And, I'm not going to suit up for the relationship race. I'll walk thank you. Get over it.

there are two exits above the wing

Several years ago I went out for sushi with my older brother. I really love going out to eat with my brother. We get into some of the most interesting conversations. We sit for much longer than we actually need to and just talk. It may be a common trait of the men in my family. Well, those blood related to me. When I was little and my parents first divorced, my dad only took us out to dinner. He knew how to cook about three things...so, he just chose to take us out. Anyway, my brother, dad, and I would get into the best conversations. We would sit for hours after eating just talking. And, it is one of my favorite memories of the two of them. Not one particular time, but the practice of doing it. Something about being in a restaurant allowed us to be really open and honest and really talk. We would have these great conversations. We would always say we would continue them after we left the restaurant...when we realized that we were the only patrons left. But, it was never the same. I don't know. Something about sitting at the table. It may be like sitting in a puffy chair at a counselors office. You just become so incredibly honest and open to discussion.

Anyway, my brother asked me, "What is it that you want in a relationship?" See, I have terrible luck with guys. Mainly because I have terrible taste and have an affinity for putting up with what I do not deserve. So, my brother posed this question to me. After some thought, I responded, "Well, I want someone who will come after me if I walked out the door."

I was very proud of my response. It seemed incredibly romantic. I imagined someone loving me with such a passion that they would never want to let me go. They would go to the end of the earth to be with me. I would be what gave them life.

My brother looked at me and responded, "That's fucked up."

What? How could my romanticized idea of perfection be "fucked up?" Well, I couldn't let this question go unanswered...so, I asked.

My brother began by saying, "You shouldn't be walking out the door." He explained that me romanticizing a relationship in which I leave was not healthy. Surely he didn't understand. See, this was romantic. I would storm out of the room. My lover would chase after me and grab me by the arm (in a nonviolent way) and tell me why he couldn't live without me. We would kiss passionately and live happily ever after because we knew how much we loved one another. We would go to any length to be together. We would fight for our love. See. Very romantic. How could my brother not understand this?

He continued to discuss this "walking out the door issue." Apparently he felt like it was immature and a way to test the love of my partner. As if I would leave in the hopes of them following. My brother said that his hope for me was that I would never want to walk out the door.

I had to let this sink in for a second.

Why did I romanticize walking out on my partner? Why did I feel that having my partner chase after me once I left was the recipe for an ideal relationship? And again, why would I be walking out in the first place?

It has been years since that conversation, but I think I know some of the answers to the questions I had so long ago. No, it isn't because I've met Prince Charming. No one has swept me off my feet. But, what I do have is a little more understanding of myself.

It was never about me walking out the door. I thought it was. I thought that it would be so wonderfully romantic to have someone chase after me. No, it wasn't about that. it was about trusting that they cared. You see, wanting a man to chase after me was how I felt as if I would know for certain that they loved me. That if they came after me, surely they loved me.

So, it wasn't about me walking out the door, but me knowing and believing that I was loved. It's a hard thing to do. To fully embrace someone's love for you. Well, it is for me at least. And, I am not sure I even know how to do that today. I still don't trust with full certainty some love that should be unquestioned. It's a flaw. I know.

But, if I were to find myself at dinner with my brother again and he were to ask me about what I wanted in a relationship, I would have another answer for him. I would share that what I would want was security. Security in our love. Faith that nothing could break it. I would know at the core that I was loved. And, I would have a knowledge that it is never to be tested. Not in the way I use to want to test love. I would allow the love to happen. I wouldn't create situations to have my partner prove it to me. I would be there. And the man I am with would be there too. Fully present in the relationship. Ups and downs. There. No walking out. No bailing. Because it would be worth it. And, I would always know that there is no door to walk out. For either of us.

in the unlikely event of a loss of cabin pressure...

Everyone has heard the sayings, "you have to first love yourself before you can truly love anyone else," or "if you don't take care of yourself first you are never going to be able to take care of some one else." They are both the same concept. And, to a degree they really are true. When I was a counselor I use to have this conversation on a daily basis practically. True, I worked at a domestic violence shelter and it was applicable to virtually every one of my clients who had their own self worth torn from their souls by those who abused them. There was a lot of work to be done for them to see their own beauty and value...my job was to walk with them on this journey.

I often used the analogy of riding on an airplane. For those of you who have flown before you've heard the announcement, "if you are traveling with a small child or someone needing assistance, please secure your mask first before assisting others." it is ingrained in society- take care of yourself first and then take care of other people.

Despite my history of spreading this doctrine to clients, (don't tell anyone) but I’m not sure I fully buy into this all the time. There is a time and a place, right? Clearly if a plane loses cabin pressure it behooves me to place my mask on first before passing out in the process of helping someone else. But, sometimes the needs of others outweigh mine. Or sometimes I just want to think about someone else before myself.

I had a client once who was being presented with a scholarship at an awards banquet hosted by the agency I was working for at the time. She didn't know it. She just thought that she was coming along. Coincidentally, I too was up for an award. I had been nominated for the agency's highest honor. I don't remember what it was called at this point. Basically, it was something like staff person of the year. You had to have made significant contributions to the agency and truly embodied the mission statement in all of your work. Most people probably didn't know they were nominated, but my boss told me. She said that she wanted me to know because regardless of whether or not I won she wanted me to know that she held me in this esteem. Quite an honor, to be viewed this way. I will very humbly say that there were some amazing women that worked there who on a daily basis did some phenomenal work- not just in my program, but in the other programs operated by the agency as well.

Anyway, as the ceremony began I had butterflies in my stomach. I felt as if I had opened my mouth they would emerge from my being and enter the space. They were overwhelming. Think American Beauty...the part where the rose petals rush from Mena Suvari's mouth. I had that nervous excitement where you almost lose feeling in your limbs and you can no longer sit still. It was similar to the feeling you got in sixth grade when you would have to get up in front of the class to make a presentation. (Or at least it was the feeling I would get) your heart races and you fear that if it doesn't slow...it may just jump out of your chest or burst. You can almost heart the rhythm of the beating and wonder if others can too because it is that intense. Oh, and don't even think of standing because your legs have no ability to support your weight. Yeah, I was a mess. A ball of nervous anticipation.

This wasn't for me though. When they began to read my clients story she clutched my arms and mouthed, "That’s me." I nodded my head. She sat there and stared at me with tears in her eyes. The room grew silent for a second and all of the air evaporated from the room. Her eyes grew wide as the room then erupted in applause. She shook her head and said, "I can't do it." I held her hand and nodded. She took her first breath and stood to accept the certificate and plaque. Tears streamed down her face and she continued looking over me nodding her head. After some photographs she returned to her seat and took a few deep breaths. She leaned over me and collapsed into my airs and began sobbing repeatedly saying, "Thank you. Thank you for believing in me." I pulled away and told her to look inside the envelope.

The agency president spoke.

My client said, "My hands are shaking so bad. I don't think I can take anymore. Thank you. Thank you."

She began talking about the selfless work of a staff member.

My client said, "I really don't think I can do it. What is it? This is all so much." I knew what the envelope held. I urged her to open it. That it would be okay.

She elaborated further on the work this staff member had done to walk with other as they began to end the cycle of violence in their lives.

My client hugged me and said, "I just want to say thank you. For all of this. Before I even know what is inside." I nodded.

She asked everyone to give a round of applause for Emily who worked at the domestic violence center.

My client opened the envelope and looked inside. She was all I could focus on. I felt so much joy for her. She fell toward me and embraced me sobbing. "I can't breathe. I can't breathe. Is this real?" I nodded and continued to hug her as long as she needed me to.

She announced the winner's full name. My colleague, Emily, stood and accepted the award.

I didn't really notice. I continued to stand there with my client who had just opened the envelope that held a check for $1000. We sat back down in our seats and she looked into my eyes. "Is this real?" I nodded with tears in my eyes and I took a breath, what felt like my first breath since her name was announced.

I didn't care what was happening around us, who won the agency award, what people thought that we refused to sit down as further awards were given handed out...because she couldn't move and I couldn't breathe. And we both cried.

You see, if there were an oxygen mask that had fallen from the ceiling, I wouldn't have put mine on first. This wasn't about me. Or, perhaps it was. You see, in that moment, I cared much more about her and her excitement. It wasn't about me nominating her or her being my client. No, it was that she was an amazing woman who had done some extraordinary work. She had a strength that I may never have. So, I didn't care about my mask. I didn't want to take care of myself or think of my award or worry about what our donors thought of me for continuing to stand up far beyond my client's "moment." no, I cared about her. And as soon as she sat down and could breathe. I regained feeling in my limbs, my heart slowed down and the noise was not as deafening, the butterflies disappeared...I could breathe.

So, I think the truth is that sometimes the way we take care of ourselves is to take care of other people. It doesn't have to be as polarized as the sayings go. You can truly be taken care of through giving to others.

Or at least, that is what works for me.