Recently I’m starving. I started eating my lunch at 11:52 and finished the entire thing as the clock hit 11:59. I couldn’t wait another second. I didn’t even make it until noon. By 12:08 I’m at the downstairs vending machine for yogurt-covered pretzels. The nutrition label says “Servings Per Container about 3” and I know for fact I will be back at my desk and finish the entire bag by 12:15. What is wrong with me? These days I just want to eat; eat and sleep—yeah, I’m exhausted, too. Usually I’m the opposite in the summer—salads, a handful of blackberries on a mid-day hike, tall ice waters. Something’s off. I wonder if it’s the energy of summer wearing me out. I’ve been thrashing around trying to keep my life in motion—house remodeling to be done, rooms to be painted, berries to pick/process/freeze, training for the triathlon, socializing, dog-walking, plant watering (twice during the scorching days), writing to keep up with, ambiguous plans with an even more ambiguous “boyfriend” to make…I’m tired. I feel life rolling forward, peeling off me like a page-a-day calendar. I want a pause button; I’m desperate for an afternoon nap.
I feel like an idiot whining about this. As I re-read my to-do list between the dot-dot-dots above, I feel pathetic. Compared to, um, just about anyone else, my life is simple and calm. My head literally shakes involuntarily with disbelief. I have no idea how people (world leaders, entrepreneurs, surgeons, parents) do it. People are starving, for real. People are exhausted, too. Me, clearly, I’m just bitching. I need more snacks…
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Monday, July 17, 2006
bridesmaid revisted
According to some evolutionary psychologists we all move through life trying to find the most successful, intelligent, attractive, healthy partner that will be willing to be with us. For obvious reasons, this theory was running through my mind as I spent the weekend at an old friend's bachelorette party. I watched the bride, draped in a bright pink feather boa, her cheeks flushed, surrounded by people committed to making her feel beautiful and desirable (which she was). I wondered how this wedding-season ritual could be connected to our relationship hard-wiring. Coupled people like to tell single people that you have to be okay with yourself before you can be in a relationship and that nothing is sexier than confidence. I used to think that (often unsolicited) advice was about “catching” a partner. But now, I wonder if it has more to do with staying together. Maybe the only way we can feel content pairing ourselves with one person is to feel like we are at our peak when we do it—that at that moment we are going to get the best of what’s around, because we are at our best, too. That kind of confidence is hard to grab hold of, and even tougher, if not impossible, to sustain. It runs, like mascara the next morning; it sags and sputters and stinks up the bathroom. In theory, our partners could be our reminders, but if you have to be okay with yourself before you can be in a relationship to begin with, my hunch is, that qualification is also what keeps a relationship working. Maybe helping people try to accomplish that long-term confidence is too hard. So, instead, we focus on one night--dress up, throw a party, make the girl feel beautiful. Put her in that magic moment, then give her bottled water at the end of the night to qwell the forthcoming hangover and pay the bill.
That night, I was surprised to be one of only two single women in a group of 12. Most were recently married, getting married, or "about to be engaged." I felt like the one who hadn’t learned the trick, yet—like I wasn't at my best. In these situations, it’s easy to wonder why not, or if you ever will be. The line between bridesmaid and spinster in a hair’s width. As a single woman it’s easy to feel that you’re living out your penance until you discover your own self-worth. It smacks of pre-school—“Go sit in the corner alone and don’t come out until you've learned how to be okay on your own.” When I was punished that way a kid I used to come back after a minute, or even less, “I’ve learned my lesson and I won’t do it again. I’m done crying now.” I still do it--but the grown up version, a few weeks after a heartbreak: “I’m really doing well on my own. I’m happy with my life and I’m not really looking for anyone right now.” (Can I come out of the corner now and find the man of my dreams?) Even biologists agree were always looking for a mate, but wise, coupled friends insist the only way to find "the one" is to stop looking. I think I'm still too hungover from the weekend to sort out the genetics from the social norms and pick sides. So, I'll stay skeptical of it all and single, I guess.
Sometimes I feel like I haven’t learned how to be “okay” on my own; to be at my best without the proof of a partner by my side. But in reality, I’m doing it everyday. And I’m proud of it. My bare fingers are tan and strong; I can feel growth, incline ahead. For the moment, I can’t imagine anything more satisfying to be committed to than that.
That night, I was surprised to be one of only two single women in a group of 12. Most were recently married, getting married, or "about to be engaged." I felt like the one who hadn’t learned the trick, yet—like I wasn't at my best. In these situations, it’s easy to wonder why not, or if you ever will be. The line between bridesmaid and spinster in a hair’s width. As a single woman it’s easy to feel that you’re living out your penance until you discover your own self-worth. It smacks of pre-school—“Go sit in the corner alone and don’t come out until you've learned how to be okay on your own.” When I was punished that way a kid I used to come back after a minute, or even less, “I’ve learned my lesson and I won’t do it again. I’m done crying now.” I still do it--but the grown up version, a few weeks after a heartbreak: “I’m really doing well on my own. I’m happy with my life and I’m not really looking for anyone right now.” (Can I come out of the corner now and find the man of my dreams?) Even biologists agree were always looking for a mate, but wise, coupled friends insist the only way to find "the one" is to stop looking. I think I'm still too hungover from the weekend to sort out the genetics from the social norms and pick sides. So, I'll stay skeptical of it all and single, I guess.
Sometimes I feel like I haven’t learned how to be “okay” on my own; to be at my best without the proof of a partner by my side. But in reality, I’m doing it everyday. And I’m proud of it. My bare fingers are tan and strong; I can feel growth, incline ahead. For the moment, I can’t imagine anything more satisfying to be committed to than that.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
honesty
There are few things that feel as indulgent as going out for breakfast on a weekday. For me, it usually means catching up with a truly good friend, eating eggs smothered in cheese cozied up to thick bacon slices, and getting to work by 10:00 a.m.—give or take. This used to be a tradition I shared with my sister for the brief year, or so, we lived in the same city. We’d get up early Friday morning, go out for Monte Cristos, and remark each time how nice it was to skip the weekend crowds that’d be lined up come tomorrow morning. Now, she’s in Vermont. Though I wish she could be passing me the maple syrup on Friday mornings, I’m happy enough to know we’re both living the lives we want, though they’re thousands of miles apart, now.
Fortunately for me, another friend of mine shares the appreciation of the weekday breakfast. We met this morning. She’s one of my closest friends, even though we don’t see each other very often and she has fifty-one years to my twenty-eight. She gives me great advice.
Breakfast is an intimate meal. We didn’t waste it. We talked about honesty. She knows me well enough to know I tend to make nice, only to dream night after night of reaming people out. That’s me--polite until I pass out, then hide the butcher knives, ladies and gentleman. Actually, if I look back, it’s interesting how slight the motion is for me between biting my tongue and biting someone’s head off. All the intermediate steps get buried, I guess.
I don’t know why I often find cold, hard look at myself and (especially) others to be so tough. Maybe I don’t want to believe the world is a hard, cold place. I’ll take my rose colored glasses and stuff my anger/disappointment/resentment someplace where it won’t block my view. Today, my friend told me I have to let it go—that I have to unleash those things that I’m inclined to repackage and justify or simply tuck away. She says “something magical” will happen if I do. This is breakfast and she is honest so I believe her. But I have to wonder if it’s something I honestly can do.
Fortunately for me, another friend of mine shares the appreciation of the weekday breakfast. We met this morning. She’s one of my closest friends, even though we don’t see each other very often and she has fifty-one years to my twenty-eight. She gives me great advice.
Breakfast is an intimate meal. We didn’t waste it. We talked about honesty. She knows me well enough to know I tend to make nice, only to dream night after night of reaming people out. That’s me--polite until I pass out, then hide the butcher knives, ladies and gentleman. Actually, if I look back, it’s interesting how slight the motion is for me between biting my tongue and biting someone’s head off. All the intermediate steps get buried, I guess.
I don’t know why I often find cold, hard look at myself and (especially) others to be so tough. Maybe I don’t want to believe the world is a hard, cold place. I’ll take my rose colored glasses and stuff my anger/disappointment/resentment someplace where it won’t block my view. Today, my friend told me I have to let it go—that I have to unleash those things that I’m inclined to repackage and justify or simply tuck away. She says “something magical” will happen if I do. This is breakfast and she is honest so I believe her. But I have to wonder if it’s something I honestly can do.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
401k and foreplay
"I just want a guy who has a normal job--not delivering pizzas and playing in a band. He should have normal sheets, top and bottom, without cartoon superheroes. A guy who can keep it in his pants on a first date, like a gentleman. Is that too much to ask?"
I'm paraphrasing, but that was the gist of my conversation with a smack-dab in her mid-twenties girlfriend of mine. She's great. We're both struggling to comprehend relationships and our talks usually take on a tone of dumbfoundedness. Nevermind graduating with honors from competitive universities and working demanding jobs, we feel clueless about this stuff. If only we could treat it like Algebra, Geometry, or Calculus--solve for x, find the axiom, and apply it to every problem we encounter. We're pissed off by relationship relativity.
Last night we were talking about qualifications--the list of what's expected in a mate. And, more important than that, what you should expect to let slide in order to have a relationship. Compromise seems frighteningly close to settling sometimes. As we walked, our lists swelled with details and then got juiced down to its essence again, as if knowing both versions might help us really discern where the line was. "Ultimately I'm looking for a 401k and foreplay," one of us said. "One shows he can take care himself, the other shows he can take care of you. Is that too much to ask?" But there it is again--perhaps that's the problem, right there. We're perpetually afraid we're asking for too much. I few weeks ago I wrote a list. At age 28, it was the first time I put what I was looking for on paper, but I didn't post it because it seemed silly, or maybe I was afraid I'd have to take it seriously and make all the potential suitors in my life measure up. Maybe something has changed in me since then. Maybe I have a little more confidence, enough to raise the bar and post "the list." Here goes:
-he will be kind and loving, like wrapping his arms around me when I’m washing the dishes and rubbing my feet after a long day
-he will be passionate, knowing that the right music and the right words make sex even more amazing than the right moves
-he will be strong. he can lift things that I can’t and will carry the heavier backpack on our trips.
-he will be artistic, or at least an art appreciator
-he will be excited to teach me things like how to caulk old cracks in my home or how to say “I’d like a coffee/whiskey/motorcycle” in French.
-he will be eager to surprise me in little ways and know that flowers are never cliche
-he will be smart. he can hold a conversation on many different subjects without falling back on rehearsed rhetoric and say things in a way I haven’t heard before. he contributes something new to my mind when we talk.
-he will be good with money and financially secure
-he will be sweet with children and dogs
-he can fix things, like the broken derailer on my bike or the doorknob that has fallen off so many times I’ve decided to ignore it.
-he reads. even better if he does it in bed with me before we go to sleep.
-he will hold me in the morning and we will spend time awake talking about the day ahead or the night before and just enjoy the bed-moments in between.
-he will want to do things--relaxing would be a hike with the dog or bike ride, not sitting in front of television.
-he will be able to tell me how he feels about me without limits or hesitations
-he will have at least as strong a sex drive as I do.
-he will help me slow down when I need to but not make me feel badly about my manic side
-he will have a sense of humor that doesn’t depend solely on scarcasm
-he will have a loving family and want to bring the best of their qualities into his own family
-he will have an appetite for good food
-he will encourage me in my career and other ambitions
-he will want to travel and he will plan spontaneous journies for us to explore new places, even if they’re just an hour away
-he will not be bothered by my divorce but won’t avoid the topic, either
-he will feel like I make his life richer instead of feeling limited by being in a relationship
-he will be attractive and fit. he can keep up with me on a long run and look great next to me when we go out.
-he will be interested in contemporary politics but in positive, pro-active ways
-he will enjoy spending time with my family and I will feel comfortable with his, too.
-he will be polite and comfortable in social situations
-he will be dependable--show up on time, follow through with commitments, be there when I need him
-he will be committed to our relationship
-he will think I’m beautiful, intellegent and fun
-he will be ambtious and have a plan for his future. he will want me to be a part of it.
-he will love nature and enjoy doing things outdoors without having to be “extreme” about it
-he will be a “boy” at the core and like it that I am a “girl”
-he will bake me a cake for my birthday
-he will be honest but still senstive
-he won’t use it against me when I fall for him completely
I'm paraphrasing, but that was the gist of my conversation with a smack-dab in her mid-twenties girlfriend of mine. She's great. We're both struggling to comprehend relationships and our talks usually take on a tone of dumbfoundedness. Nevermind graduating with honors from competitive universities and working demanding jobs, we feel clueless about this stuff. If only we could treat it like Algebra, Geometry, or Calculus--solve for x, find the axiom, and apply it to every problem we encounter. We're pissed off by relationship relativity.
Last night we were talking about qualifications--the list of what's expected in a mate. And, more important than that, what you should expect to let slide in order to have a relationship. Compromise seems frighteningly close to settling sometimes. As we walked, our lists swelled with details and then got juiced down to its essence again, as if knowing both versions might help us really discern where the line was. "Ultimately I'm looking for a 401k and foreplay," one of us said. "One shows he can take care himself, the other shows he can take care of you. Is that too much to ask?" But there it is again--perhaps that's the problem, right there. We're perpetually afraid we're asking for too much. I few weeks ago I wrote a list. At age 28, it was the first time I put what I was looking for on paper, but I didn't post it because it seemed silly, or maybe I was afraid I'd have to take it seriously and make all the potential suitors in my life measure up. Maybe something has changed in me since then. Maybe I have a little more confidence, enough to raise the bar and post "the list." Here goes:
-he will be kind and loving, like wrapping his arms around me when I’m washing the dishes and rubbing my feet after a long day
-he will be passionate, knowing that the right music and the right words make sex even more amazing than the right moves
-he will be strong. he can lift things that I can’t and will carry the heavier backpack on our trips.
-he will be artistic, or at least an art appreciator
-he will be excited to teach me things like how to caulk old cracks in my home or how to say “I’d like a coffee/whiskey/motorcycle” in French.
-he will be eager to surprise me in little ways and know that flowers are never cliche
-he will be smart. he can hold a conversation on many different subjects without falling back on rehearsed rhetoric and say things in a way I haven’t heard before. he contributes something new to my mind when we talk.
-he will be good with money and financially secure
-he will be sweet with children and dogs
-he can fix things, like the broken derailer on my bike or the doorknob that has fallen off so many times I’ve decided to ignore it.
-he reads. even better if he does it in bed with me before we go to sleep.
-he will hold me in the morning and we will spend time awake talking about the day ahead or the night before and just enjoy the bed-moments in between.
-he will want to do things--relaxing would be a hike with the dog or bike ride, not sitting in front of television.
-he will be able to tell me how he feels about me without limits or hesitations
-he will have at least as strong a sex drive as I do.
-he will help me slow down when I need to but not make me feel badly about my manic side
-he will have a sense of humor that doesn’t depend solely on scarcasm
-he will have a loving family and want to bring the best of their qualities into his own family
-he will have an appetite for good food
-he will encourage me in my career and other ambitions
-he will want to travel and he will plan spontaneous journies for us to explore new places, even if they’re just an hour away
-he will not be bothered by my divorce but won’t avoid the topic, either
-he will feel like I make his life richer instead of feeling limited by being in a relationship
-he will be attractive and fit. he can keep up with me on a long run and look great next to me when we go out.
-he will be interested in contemporary politics but in positive, pro-active ways
-he will enjoy spending time with my family and I will feel comfortable with his, too.
-he will be polite and comfortable in social situations
-he will be dependable--show up on time, follow through with commitments, be there when I need him
-he will be committed to our relationship
-he will think I’m beautiful, intellegent and fun
-he will be ambtious and have a plan for his future. he will want me to be a part of it.
-he will love nature and enjoy doing things outdoors without having to be “extreme” about it
-he will be a “boy” at the core and like it that I am a “girl”
-he will bake me a cake for my birthday
-he will be honest but still senstive
-he won’t use it against me when I fall for him completely
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
love and backpacks
I spent the weekend backpack the Ochoco Wilderness in eastern Oregon with two of my favorite boys. One is in the photo with me. I've discovered the real joy of backpacking is as much about the afternoon naps under ponderosa pines as it is about climbing high and deep into the forest, hauling a 40lb pack. I slept more in the woods last weekend than I did the entire week before. I really relaxed--relaxed myself and relax into him. I literally did--leaning into his chest like a chair as we sat by the fire, taking turns reading aloud by flashlight. I love this man. I loved watching him fly fishing, seperated my the width and roar of the stream as I read a book with my feet in the water. I loved how we took up our old card game again during a thunderstorm and how he didn't mind the wet dog on his sleeping bag when the thunder got too scary for my sweet pooch to stay outside the tent. I loved that he kept casting his line until he caught us enough trout for dinner, eventhough it meant waiting until 10:00 pm to eat. I love him, but now I can't relax. He's leaving in a few weeks. It's a sort-of indian summer romance, but way too early in the season. I can't decide whether I want him by my side for every second of it, or if I'd rather push him away and take my pain now. So, instead I convice myself that I'm happy in the moment, trying not to overthink it. Just relax, I tell myself. But it was easier in the woods.
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