What is Love?

How can love hurt and feel so amazing all at the same time? How does this dichotomy exist? How can something that we have been gifted with hurt so badly? How can it cause me to feel so alive? These questions rattling around in my head.

I got married, very young. It was not a mistake. No, I would not have done it differently. I know I would not be who I am today without Andrew. He loved and supported me as I became an adult. We loved and supported each other. We were children when we got married, we were adults when we got divorced.

Children love like children, this is a truth that doesn't completely make sense to me yet. However, I now see love as far more complex than I did at 20, and I expect I will feel differently again as I get older. But, at 31, things have changed. As a child, I saw love as simple, easy, and a right that was mine to take. As an adult, love is hard, it takes work, and it is my responsibility to give as much as I receive, and maybe sometimes, give more. Sure, there are times when it all comes easy, and Lord knows, I relish those moments, but they are fleeting.

My relationship now is not easy in the least. We have been through more trials and tribulations that I care to count, and sadly, I know there will be more to come. Why do I continue in such madness? Is is as simple as I love him? Am I crazy? Stupid? All of the above? Probably. Somehow, I don't seem to have power over this thing called love. And I am OK with that. Does it cause me grief? Hell yes. Does it bring me joy? Also, Hell yes! What can any of us do when we are hopelessly in love?

I suppose I will continue to simply let Life unfold in front of me. The dreams that float around in my head are at least worth trying. This is how I honor Divine Intervention, I try and be open to the possibility of life. The area of Love is something I keep learning about, new lessons, new ideas, new paths. I suppose all we can do is just have faith.

My heart hurts tonight.
Tears come and go without warning.
Surrounded by love and freedom, something liberating and terrifying.
Sitting with the uncertainty is so hard.
I keep trying to distract myself, but it keeps bringing me back.
Be. Here. Now.
Trying.

The Cliff

I have been in Hawaii for a week. This thought came to me, far more slowly than I would have anticipated.  The question, what will happen next keeps looming on my mind...

I have met several women here who I have been questioning (probably annoyingly so) about their experiences with traveling. With this acknowledgment of being annoying, does not, in any way, mean I am going to stop asking questions of these divine women.

The one statement that I have been left pondering is, "you aren't going to die if you don't have a job". This struck me as a very strong statement. My gut reaction was, "well, sure, I won't die, but it is SO irresponsible... right? right?".  The next thing she said to me was "stop living to work, and start working to live".

This level of higher thinking is something that I know I posses deep in my personhood, but to make it an actual reality is somewhat terrifying.  How do I transition to such a "faithful" way of living?

I am looking, cautiously, over the cliff at all the possibilities...

First Night in the Jungle

I am not sure I am going to make it here. Sure, in the light of day, everything is beautiful, breathtaking, and generally heaven-like, night-time though? That's a whole different game of survival of the fucking fittest!

Since I haven't totally adjusted to the time change, 8pm felt really late. I tried staying awake as long as possible. Admittedly, I was trying to be brave, but as the night hours grew deeper, my courage ran thin. Also, dear reader, keep in mind that the sun is set and it is dark by 8pm. Around 9pm, flashlight in hand, I made the journey toward my tent, passing along the way, the "caution wild pigs" sign, which did nothing for my nerves.

I cozy down, and even turned all the lights off, just to see how dark it was. That lasted all of 2 seconds. It was darker than the darkest anything ever. Lights back on. Ok, little wind-up lantern will eventually go out, all is good. Starting to close my eyes, and my freakin spidey sense, ever so gently whispered, "look over there". By the way, I could really use less of a spidey sense. I noticed a shadow inside my tent, "what the hell could that be?" my sleepy mind thought. So I grabbed my flashlight, turned it on and lo and behold, the BIGGEST FUCKING BEETLE OF ALL TIME a near 2 inches from my face. Needless to say, there was much swearing, and frantic planning on how this creature was going to meet its maker. I grabbed a book, the soft cover one (idiot self). Now the monster had crawled onto the side of the bookshelf, a place where it knew I wasn't going to be able to get it. Shit. "bug spray!" I said out loud, as if to proclaim to the bug you better get the FUCK OUTTA here! And with lightening speed, I grabbed my can of (illegal here at hedonisia), my deet filled spray. And just as you likely thought, the monster was now gone. Fuck. This. Shit.

Now what? It was me, and the BFBOAT, alone, in my zipped up tent. There was nothing I could do. Of course, it took about an hour to come to this realization. So, go back to bed? That would be what I tried to do, "tried" being the operative word.

Coqui frogs. They are loudest mutha fuckas I have ever heard. It baffles me that something so small could be so deafening! I suppose there is a metaphor to be made here, but that is another blog, today I will be focusing on my hatred of them. Think about a nature show, on FULL FUCKING BLAST, times TEN! The peircing sound stabbed my ears, for hours! I tried listening to music, on full blast, but it was not loud enough to drown out these fuckers. Keep in mind, I am normally a nature loving person, you know, live and let live, but I want these frogs dead. Dead!

Now the pig issue. I started hearing snorting and rustling, which assured me that they were smelling me out in order to eat me. And since I have not actually seen them, I have no real sense of their size. But at this point, I am sure they are the size of cars. I was told to make noise to scare them off, so I rattled my tent. And I heard them scatter off, but now they know I am here. Shit. This happened 4 times. Four. Fucking. Times.

And while the beetle was hunting me, frogs were stabbing me in the ears, pigs were snorting me out... I am under an avocado tree. I heard the loudest CRASH on the little make-shift roof. For a moment I thought the sky was falling. My eyes burst open, and a flash of light, for what I assume, was the fear hormones rushing through my body. These falling avocados happened 3 times.

Of course, there was also an epic rainstorm. The loudest rain I have ever heard, and I am from Portland. The rain also scared me. I mean, at this point, I felt like Mother Nature was being a real bitch, and I was fucking scared of her.

All in all, I am not sure how I am going to do another night. I am going to try earplugs, buy a knife to kill pigs, and maybe pray a little harder for Mother Nature to have mercy on this very tired soul.

Innocence Lost

As a 31 year old woman, I think one would expect that I would be all grown up. In some ways, I suppose I am. I have a woman's body, I have my first few wrinkles, discovered botox, gray hair, and I can't go out partying like I used to. However, in many ways, probably the ways that matter more, I feel like I am a child, coming of age.

I was asked a question about choosing a mate, and upon thinking about it, when I got married, I certainly wasn't thinking about "choosing a mate", I was simply doing what I thought I was supposed to do when you're in love: Get Married.  I thought I was old enough (20 years young) to make that decision, and I certainly can tell you, that no one would have been able to talk me out of it. I am an entirely different person that I was when I was 20. Just saying the number "twenty" and "getting married",  together in the same sentence, out-loud, sounds preposterous. If someone I knew was getting married at 20, I would think they were crazy! Did people think I was crazy, and simply kept it to themselves? I don't really care one way or the other if they did, but it is an interesting question.

I was thinking about when I moved to Irvine, CA for a fateful week.  Trying to transfer colleges, and ultimately getting duped by the, oh-so-christian-concordia, college system. I had to return to Portland. I was thinking about how much Andy and I were in love then. He was so happy to see me when I returned. I remember like it was yesterday, seeing him at my parents house - there is even a picture of us on that day, smiles as big and bright as the sun. We were young, innocent, lovers.

I saw a boy, roller skating down the street, with a red rose in his hand. He was skating, swiftly down the road, on what I will assume to be, his lovers home.  If only love could stay as simple as that rose. But like the rose, with time, love withers and dies. Petals fall to the ground to become swept up in the dust that becomes our lives.

Not What I Want, Is It What I Need?

Today, I signed divorce papers. In a few short weeks, a judge will sign the same papers, dissolving my marriage. This makes every cell in my body hurt.  This pain is far and above any physical pain I have ever experienced. It has become an ailment that my body cannot seem to heal from... It is a scar that I will where on the deepest part of my heart, forever. 

To anyone out there who has ever passed judgement on the divorced, please, think twice about ever doing it again.  I never thought I would get divorced. I never thought I would sit and cry in a lawyers office, while signing away the love of my life. 

This is certainly not what I want. However, I find myself wondering if it is what I need. The wise people in my life tell me it is. I have yet to believe them. Only time will tell, and I truly no longer have a choice.  I wanted to sign the papers first. I couldn't bear seeing his name signed. However, I know that he will have to deal with seeing mine, and that brings deep sorrow.

One thing I am grateful for, is that Andy and I were both very kind, peaceful, and compassionate towards each other during this process. Which, naturally, makes me wonder, "why, then?". But it is, what it is.

I am divorced. It sucks.

Happy Mother's Day

I am considering this my Better Homes and Garden's blog for Mother's. My Mom is always critisizing herself for not cleaning enough, well this piece is my attempt to change her perspective. Let's take a tour of my Mother's home. The Living Room Upon entry one will find a wood burning stove. The primary and only source of heat for the home. If it is early morning, she has likely gotten out of bed and lit a fire so that the rest of us can wake to a warm house. A little further in, the couch is full of pillows, blankets, and other things to keep one cozy. The blankets have cartoon characters, or they are worn with years of love, the faded colors showing the years of cozy snuggling that has been done. The Restroom A girls dream! Every product imaginable - lotions, perfumes, magical potions! The towels are yummy smelling from a fresh wash and soft for dryer sheets, and if it is spring and summer, you may be lucky enough to dry off with a towel that has dried in the sunshine, a truly heavenly treat- who knew that sunshine and wind had a fragrance?! The Kitchen A place where all appetites may be satisfied. Treats, juices, milk, breads, proteins... The smell of dinner cooking, and the conversations surround what would be a suitable dessert. She complains that there are no dishes without the ABC's or silly children's art on them, but I see a never lost childhood, dishes that no one cries fits over getting broken or lost, a comfortable place where you can relax. Seeing dishes that I used as a child takes me back to simpler times, and I need that more than ever right now. My Bedroom I recently moved into my Mother's home, for reasons that are certainly due their own blog, but I will attempt to stay on topic. My parents moved their room upstairs so that I could have a private space. The walls are decorated with puzzles that my nephew has put together. She was worried I wouldn't like it, but she would be very wrong. They are representative of time, creativity, focus, skill, laughing, smiling. All these things that remind me of my own childhood. So, what is my point, dear reader? I think I wanted to create a quick snapshot of my mom's castle, for she truly is a queen. She worries so much about "not doing it right", and I wanted to attempt to ease her fears, and assure her that she is loved. And we all adore the mismatched dishes and towels. They represent out lives - swooped together in a cosmic miracle of life, all the mishap adventures, all the beautiful colors and memories of time spent together. Besides, I don't wanna be yelled at for breaking a dish :) I love you, Mom.