Exactly one year ago on St. Patrick’s Day, I returned to Los Angeles to make a new home for myself. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around this length and passage of time; so many major losses, markers, and events have occurred in these 12 months that I still find myself perceiving the world around me as though I’m hanging upside down. It reminds me of being on the monkey bars on the school playground, swaying to and fro while feeling a mixture of freedom and mild discomfort as the blood rushes to my head.


I have been silent for a bit where this blog is concerned, partly because of my suddenly jam-packed schedule as one of the recent additions to the fantastic Echo Theatre Company. Joining a club that would have me as a member has meant the world to me, acting as a lifeline which guides me through grief and provides focus and groundedness, something which had otherwise all but eluded me.

The other reason I haven’t written is simple: I haven’t known what I wanted to say. Not that I haven’t tried; there are multiple posts in draft form, a pattern which has taught me that the writing will come when I’m ready and not a moment before. Also, alone time has been a struggle for me, a hazy, in-between space that quite possibly cannot (and should not) be chronicled – at least, not at length.

The one thing that saves an actor during hard times is the part scary/part liberating practice of remaining vulnerable – pouring the essence of those life experiences into one’s work. Now that I finally have an artistic home, I have a place to regularly channel all of the emotion and struggle from my eight years in Portland up to the present. As a result, the wreck that is my personal life has become fodder for a new level of excellence in any creative endeavors. Woo hoo – let’s hear it for trade-offs…er, I mean, balance!

I suppose there is an ebb and flow to writing, too. Sometimes I am prolific, cranking out thoughts and passages, and at other times like now, I’m like a recharging battery, plugged in and waiting for the green light. During this dormancy, I’ve been reading voraciously – everything from new plays and screenplays to poetry – as well as catching up on all the films and TV shows that slipped past me during the first months after my Mother’s death.

I’m especially fascinated by this sudden surge of interest in poetry. What meant nothing to me in the past now moves and comforts me, the passion-infused imagery providing a conduit for this block of emotion which has been pent up and difficult to express. As if to perfectly illustrate the relevance of this new-found appreciation, just yesterday I came across the below poem by Robert Graves.

A Time of Waiting
A moment comes when my sound senses
Warn me to keep the pot at a quiet simmer,
Conclude no rash decisions, enter into
No random friendships, check the runaway tongue
And fix my mind in a close caul of doubt -
Which is more difficult, maybe, than to face
Night-long assaults of lurking furies.

The pool lies almost empty; I watch it nursed
By a thin stream. Such idle intervals
Are from waning moon to the new – a moon always
Holds the cords of my heart. Then patience, hands;
Dabble your nerveless fingers in the shallows;
A time shall come when she has need of them.

Harvest_moonIts a little shocking to me how perfectly this poem articulates my current experience. It feels like a response to the call of my open, wounded heart, the sign I have sought regarding how to proceed – if at all – with the securing of these loose ends which make up my inner emotional life. It is a great relief to me to be reminded of the wisdom of waiting, of holding still. This seems to be the first thing forgotten when I’m in the middle of a grief-filled bout of crying, or a panicked imagining that I’m somehow being left behind by those I love, or I’m focusing far too much energy on people who seem too busy or simply not interested in cultivating or even maintaining a connection with me. Even so, I can’t help but note the uncomfortable truth that I do not have much to offer in return anyway; a relationship with me would be lop-sided and unfair to anyone who would even consider making the effort. And so, I remain mostly alone, reserving my energy for those occasions when I need to be social and around others.

It’s times like this when I wonder if there is anything in this blog which is of value to anyone other than myself. I can’t imagine sitting down with a nice cup of tea and enjoying this post, for example – it makes me laugh just to think of it. Earlier this evening I heard someone describe blogs as narcissistic, which prompted me to ask myself if what I am writing would be considered self-indulgent. I suppose to some it would. However, I realized early on that I do, in fact, write this blog primarily for my own edification, and consider any benefit it provides to others to be icing on the cake. I guess that’s my way of saying that I’m going to write it regardless, for as long as I find it worthwhile. Hopefully you consider that to be good news.

On that note, I think I’m out of material for the time being. Time again to rest and recharge, possibly to return in better spirits, but to return sometime soon nonetheless.

Posted in acting, appreciation, connection, creative expression, grieving, healing, heartache, intimacy, loss, love, mourning, relationships, waiting, worthiness | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Elizabeth and Lincoln and Mom and Me

A couple things have been swirling around in my experience this weekend, and they are stirring memories and feelings about my Mother. These feelings are already quite accessible, as I’ve been sorting through photos in preparation for a small gathering coming up next week to honor her memory on what would have been her 70th birthday.

click below to play song

 I get stuck on certain songs from time to time, mostly because they wiggle through my exterior and connect directly to my insides, acting as a tuning fork for where I am resonating at the moment. The above song, Do Not Hang Your Head by Elizabeth and the Catapult, is a lovely, soulful piece that manages to express many of the sentiments my Mother communicated to me, through her words and actions, over the last eight years of her life.

If ever I do hurt you | Make your willows bend | If ever I deceive you | Darlin, do not hang your head

If ever I betray you | Cast shadows on your light | I pray that you may pardon | And forgive me by and by

Oh my, baby, cast another light | Oh my, baby, cast another light

Cause in our greatest conquest | We are what fate depends | That’s the heroes we once dreamt of | When we were children in our bed

And in our greatest triumphs | We cannot shake the fear | That the ones that we most treasure | May at any given second disappear

My dear, may we never disappear | My dear, may we never disappear

Cause we are all just animals | Living in the wild | But we, too, can be civil, friend | I’d like to try that now | I’d like to try that now

And I know I don’t deserve you | But if I ever dare forget | May you help my heart remember | And bring me home again

I finally saw the movie Nebraska today, and I instantly knew why this was the right time for me to see it. It was the perfect compliment to the song; the lyrics were my Mother singing to me, and the son in the movie depicted the role I played for my Mother in response. The son, Davey, realizes that he is in a position to give his father a sense of purpose in the twilight years of his life as his mind and body are failing him. Davey ignores convention and the judgement of others and gives his father a loving, double-layered gift; first, he takes his father seriously and helps him complete what he feels is a necessary journey; second, he leaves disappointments of the past out of the equation and just stays focused on his father, investing his time and actions in the relationship which exists in the present.

Early on, when I had not made peace yet with her memory loss, I often felt abandoned by my Mother; it was as though she had stopped being the person I knew and loved and was playing a ruleless game in which I was an unwilling participant. Consequently, it was a huge challenge for me to let her be who she had become and treat that person with love and respect. She often expressed feeling tremendous guilt about her declining health and how she felt she was a burden that was holding me back. I’ll never forget how her face fell when she realized I had stayed in Portland with her for eight years before coming back to LA last Spring. I often felt during that time that I was taking her hand and guiding her on a narrow, dark path, soothing her with my presence, words, and actions in order to help her be kind to herself as she slowly departed from her life.

Mom’s 69th Birthday

Many of the comments I’ve seen in response to this song mention how sad it is, but I don’t agree. I see it as someone making peace and coming to terms with the spectrum of ups and downs that have occurred in their life; they’re just saying, “I know I’m not perfect, but don’t lose faith in me, don’t lose hope in me, keep me honest, and hold me in your heart.”

This is my Mother’s love song to me. My response – staying with her, being there for her, being present with her – was my love song to her.

Posted in appreciation, caregiving, compassion, connection, death and dying, dementia, family, forgiveness, letting go, loss, love, mother daughter relationships, mourning | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

All You Need is Love (and a few hours at the Genius Bar)

So my laptop hard drive died a sad and surprising death a couple weeks ago, and just yesterday I restored a backup to the new drive while at the Apple Store. With time to kill and armed with my iPad mini, I decided it was time to organize my thoughts and began to crank out a new post. I was pleased (and slightly amazed) at my ability to drown out the cacophony of others surrounding me in that bustling destination of technology. I guess when the percolating of ideas has been achieved, caution and reason are thrown to the wind (not to mention comfort – owie, those black wooden stools!) and the muse is willingly brought forth.

In my most recent post, I talked about how a lovely, ongoing conversation with someone I care deeply about could not continue in its current state. After unsuccessfully trying to get my correspondent to open the parameters of our exchange, I took more direct action. My efforts seemed to backfire, leading to the dissolution which I had suspected was imminent. This severing of our interactions took place while my laptop was out of commission – now that it is up and running again, I’m a little sad to find evidence there of some of my efforts which were mid-creation, never to be sent, never to be received by their intended recipient.

I once had a major falling out with a long-time, dear friend of mine from college. Our differences were irreconcilable and our friendship was never the same. Connection is a squirrelly thing, though, with a life all its own, and the reality of relationships is much, much broader and deeper than the surface definition and consideration we often give them. Although we no longer spent time together, my friend’s presence did not disappear from my life – and not just because we shared history with mutual friends. He entered my thoughts and feelings regularly in the way I would view and experience the moments of my day. Because of him, I viewed the world – and life – differently, and this impact has contributed to the shape of who I have become. The morning of his passing, I felt a rush of awareness of him even before I got the news that he was gone. It was a loving, open feeling, as though he had come to assure me that all was well with him and between us.

There have been other relationships in my life which have healed over time, and I am currently enjoying the unfolding of new chapters with these people. My Father is one of them. He and I have traveled a rocky and winding path to reach the current iteration of our relationship; there were stretches of time where we were completely estranged from one another. We were always on each other’s minds, though, and our reunion occurred because we are both older and wiser, valuing any time we can have together over trying to hold onto what is ultimately just water under the bridge. He is one of my biggest supporters, and reads my blog regularly. (Hi, Dad!) I love what I have learned from my path with and to him; both the peaks and valleys have been of great benefit to me.

Sometimes, you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what you feel. And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you must feel that you can trust them, too — even when you’re in the dark. Even when you’re falling.

― Mitch Albom, Tuesdays with Morrie

Time has shown me that once someone becomes important to us, they never really go away; the look and feel of the connection may change, but what exists between two people does so beyond time and space. There was much love and deep feeling in my interactions with this man whom I have recently had to pull away from. The level of creativity and depth of feeling which shaped our connection hasn’t just evaporated into thin air; the weight of what lives between us is as palpable as ever for me. Regardless of what does or doesn’t happen, nothing can take away from the beauty of the connection we created and nurtured together; I find myself returning to it often with much appreciation and wonder.

I no longer feel that something went wrong between us. As I wrote before, our current way of communicating was failing and could not be maintained. I am willing to trust that this most recent chapter in the story of us ended in the manner it did so that there could exist the possibility of a different, better relationship down the road, if and when the time is right. My hope is that what tethers us to each other is strong enough to weather this indefinite dormancy. That said, I know it is not my job – is beyond me, really – to orchestrate a reunion with this man. All the beautiful, heartfelt words that passed between us in no way guarantee that a future fresh start will occur. So, in the same way that I am choosing to trust my instincts in order to do what is best for me, I have to trust that he will be true to whatever is best for him, too, and know that this is enough.

Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all. When there’s a big disappointment, we don’t know if that’s the end of the story. It may just be the beginning of a great adventure.

― Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times

I am getting better all the time at redirecting when I begin to feel foolish or doubt my instincts. It is that mental workout, or martial arts of the mind approach which I have talked about before, where I deliberately and methodically use my ability to focus in order to return to my best self. This current experience has highlighted the main shift I am making right now in order to get there, which is to decide that whatever choice I’ve made, it is the right one. Second-guessing myself is what has been holding me in a pattern of dissatisfaction and instability, and it has become very uncomfortable to maintain this waffling mentality as new, more positive experiences are struggling to move into my life.

My decision, then, regarding the current situation is to open my hands and really let it go – to make this the last time I write about it or him – so that I can make room for what is to come. In the meantime, I will hoe my own garden; I will continue to reap the rewards of the many connections in my experience, and allow them to remind me of just how much love exists within and around me, right here and now.

Posted in allowing, appreciation, change, communication, connection, letting go, loss, relationships | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Houston, We Have A Problem

Communication is a key component to any relationship. Without it, prognosis for survival is slim to none. Many relationships limp along with little care or nurturing, often because this essential element is barely present, or missing entirely.

There are all kinds of clever ways that people devise to convey thoughts, ideas, beliefs, and desires to one another. Being a lover of words, puzzles, strategy games, and mysteries, I have partaken in some very unique interactions, most recently one that was lyric and romantic in nature. I adored this exchange. It was a daily treat I indulged in, the thing that made my eyes fly open in the morning, eager to greet the day. I would make my morning cup of coffee, settle in at my computer, and construct a new note to attach to the carrier pigeon. I reveled in the challenge of finding a way to express things indirectly yet clearly, to bring evocative expression to the well of thought and feeling within me. Be it clever, light, dark, passionate, reflective, admonishing – whatever the tone, I was giving a voice to my innermost self, and my arms would open wide as I released each effort, filled with anticipation and excitement over how these compositions would be welcomed by their intended recipient.

I was so enamored of this experience and the resulting connection that I couldn’t help but want it to grow into something more. The problem came when I realized that the rules and parameters of this method of communication were not only established elsewhere, they were determined by the other to be the only confines within which this connection could be maintained. These limitations fueled an imbalance in my days, distracting me from the business of the rest of my life. It became extremely difficult for me to adequately articulate what I wanted to say, in spite of increasingly inordinate amounts of time and effort made on my part to do so. As a result of these restrictions, what had initially been a joyful experience was diminished into a burdensome, limiting, easily misconstrued, inconsistent, and confounding exercise in frustration. Even with the insistence on maintaining these parameters, I could feel the same sense of exasperation woven into the messages I was receiving from my partner in this dance.

I realized with great sorrow and trepidation that I had to remove myself from this exchange entirely, hoping that my last message would convey why I had to do so – that I hoped for more, for the recipient to have the same desire to meet me outside the confines of this limited game. As there has been a waning of activity followed by silence on the other end, I fear my message was either not comprehended or my cohort does not share my desire, and that this beautiful connection we were fostering is soon to be no more.

The lesson we all inevitably learn is this: relationships are delicate, fragile, living things. They must be tended to regularly and allowed to develop and change. The hardest part – the thing that often keeps people from even attempting to connect in the first place – is that the one does not have control over the other; even after embarking on this connection, there is a very real possibility that, at any point, the other may choose not to meet you halfway, and the relationship will suffer – possibly dissolve – as a result.

I am still hopeful that the above relationship will find a way to thrive. In its current form, this bond has become stunted and unwell with no means of fostering new growth. Sometimes, relationships move out of our experience. While I hope that is not the case in this instance, I am willing to take that risk. I’ve released the carrier pigeon for the last time and am left with the task of trusting in my correspondent to find a way to reply which allows us to continue under better conditions. I have chosen at this time in my life to be bold, and I feel I must insist on conducting my relationships in this same manner; any connection worth keeping requires it, in my estimation.

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Contemplating the Old, Continuing the New

This time last year, I was scrambling to figure out where to move my Mother before I left for Los Angeles. It was a stressful, difficult time, and it seems like a lifetime ago. The transition into the current new year has been quite different, a much quieter, more isolated time of contemplation and reflection.

The holidays were difficult. I remained on the outskirts of the season – hardly listened to carols, didn’t decorate, didn’t send cards, didn’t make cookies or tarts. I waded through a handful of holiday parties, feeling underwater much of the time, bracing myself for another wave of grief as I put an invisible barrier between myself and the festivities around me. Several times I tried to put together a slide show or blog post to commemorate holidays past (with images like the one above of the tree in our childhood home), but I just couldn’t do it. I even caught myself more than once feeling mopey and sorry for myself that I was having to endure this time as a single woman, still smarting from the unreturned feelings I had expressed to a certain man back in October.

I finally had some release on Christmas Eve in the middle of the night; I managed to listen to my favorite Christmas album, introduced to me by my Mother when I was a child, forever to be associated with her and how she made the holidays feel special and magical, filled with color, light, and love. I cried quietly in bed, listening to Carol of the Bells, the one that always evokes the most feeling from me. I pictured Mom smiling and handing my sister and I ornaments to put on the tree, laughing as we tried to solve the problems of untangling lights, tinsel or no tinsel, how to balance the tree topper on the odd-shaped branches, and enjoying this family ritual with us which is now only a memory.

I am very glad that I was able to spend the last two weeks of the year in Arizona with my Aunt and sister. While it was at times difficult and I often just wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep my way to 2014, it was ultimately very good to not be alone. My sister always provides levity and distracts me from getting maudlin, and my Aunt is gracious and loving. It was also nice to be there to support her as she continued the unenviable and daunting task of sorting through Grandmother’s things.

Even though the ability to mask feelings and the ‘soldier on’ mentality that I had developed as a younger woman was completely deconstructed when my Mother died, I find there is a residual fogginess that sometimes settles between my conscious mind and my heart. While it makes sense that I’m far from done with grieving, it’s become very clear that a byproduct of this grief has stirred a separate struggle within; while I have made peace with the passing of my Mother, Grandmother, and Aunt, I sometimes sense an uncomfortable fear of losing more people in my life. A couple times since my last post, I have broken down sobbing, finding myself saying out loud over and over, “Please, no more loss. Please, no more loss.” With these revealing moments, I realize that my obsessive and clingy behavior around the unrequited love situation I recently experienced is directly related to and influenced by this particular fear. I also feel that this behavior has acted as a diversion from dealing with the grief, when mounting feelings threaten to overwhelm me.

It’s an interesting, complex dynamic which sends my feelings all over the map. And, though I feel I’ve written about these things over and over, every post gives me a little more clarity and relief. Each time I finally do cry and release all this pent up sadness and fear, I always go to sleep immediately after, waking in a calm, relieved state. I also find, often with amazement, that my heart remains open. When I am back in that more grounded, balanced place, I see things completely differently. The overwhelm I felt in those instances seems to move beyond a concern over loss of others and appears, at its core, to be about disconnection – a discomfort that has built up to a breaking point as a result of holding myself apart from the knowledge that all is well and unfolding just right.

Yes, I do miss those who have passed away, very much. But I also take comfort in my belief that they are free and have come to be reunited with the fullness of who they really are, unencumbered by the fears and limiting beliefs that they held during their time on Earth. The light at the end of these dark tunnels of grief always brings with it a willingness to trust – in myself, in the universe, in the innate wisdom that each of us has the ability to connect to at any time. It helps me feel less sadness and more hope, less fear and more love.

My Aunt, my Mother, and my Grandmother have moved on. Truth is, I would never wish for them to return, to be less than they have become. All of them left gifts of memories and clarifying perspectives with me. As I wrestle with all of these feelings, I can’t help but feel a deep sense appreciation for these women who believed in me, loved me, and wanted for me to live my life doing what I enjoy. I don’t have formal resolutions for the new year – I simply wish to continue being bold, open, inquisitive, and inspired, to move forward with joy and anticipation of what is to come.

Posted in allowing, beliefs, boldness, death, death and dying, family, grieving, holidays, loss, love, mourning, perspective, relationships, releasing fear, resolutions | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Dancing With the Green-Eyed Monster

Jealousy – the ill-fitting garment that gets dragged out of my closet periodically, only to reveal an unflattering reflection in the mirror and cause me to seriously consider consuming an entire bag of potato chips (along with anything standing between me and my Snack of Despair). I do not wear it well, nor do I behave with any sort of grace while viewing the world through those moss-colored lenses.

A wee voice in my head has been suggesting that I might wish to get a grip on this issue for awhile; however, as it doesn’t flare up all that often, I lazily neglected to place it at the top of the “Obnoxious Behavior to Address” list. Lucky for me and my tireless efforts in the direction of self improvement, this topic has once again reared its ugly head, heaving and spewing its foul, gaseous breath right in my face. Upon recognizing the unfolding of a potentially bad scene, said wee voice began to chatter away in a mild panic, cautioning me to ignore ugly monster. Did I listen? No. I had already chugged the Kool-Aid and was busy running amok – and monster was ecstatic, gleefully clapping and dancing as I vomited righteous indignation, self pity, and self doubt all over myself. Such a display for someone who claims to want to leave the drama on the stage. Ah, well.

Time to pull out Ye Olde Philosophy and do a bit of gazing at my full-figured navel. What set me off? The details don’t matter, because (as I well know by now) it isn’t about the event. What matters is that something pushed my buttons – buttons that are specific to me, constructed out of something I have chosen to believe which doesn’t gel with my current experience. Wee voice had tried to warn me, but I opted for door number three: Accelerated Learning via Painful Event.

Okay, so what did these buttons tell me? One, that I apparently feel the need to control the conditions and actions of others (especially certain others) in order to feel okay. How’s that working out for ya, Jeanette? (I’m relieved that I have asked myself a rhetorical question, because I am not necessarily pleased with the answer.) Two, my being jealous is a pretty big indicator that I still have a ways to go with regard to releasing feelings of unworthiness. If I were more solid in knowing that who I am is enough, I would never feel the need to compare myself or my body to that of another woman, or worry about men my age flirting with girls half our age, or wonder why my acting peer is auditioning regularly while I am not, etc. – the list could get quite long if I let it.

The point is, this is my issue; it belongs to no one but me. While I am momentarily embarrassed by my behavior, I am not the green-eyed monster. I am a fallible human, happy to have faults which give me room for growth and desire for better leanings. This uncomfortable moment of clarification is part of life experience, the gift that keeps giving. Perfect timing for the holiday season, I suppose.

Happy Friday – and Happy Holidays :)

Posted in allowing, beliefs, jealousy, self-acceptance, self-care, worthiness | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Retreat and Retrieval

Recently, the man I expressed my (unreciprocated) love to decided to hide a post I had made on his Facebook wall, something I had written before he knew of my feelings for him. He had done this once before in the past, also for reasons unbeknownst to me. Neither post was inflammatory, over the top or unkind; both would be considered by most anyone to be friendly and benign. Unfortunately, because communication with him has become difficult and strained, I don’t feel I can ask him outright why he took these actions. It certainly reinforced the feeling in me that I had grossly overestimated the significance of our relationship – to him, at least. However, since I dislike speculation, which is nothing more than a baseless way to get myself riled up or draw wrong conclusions, I will instead focus on working through my own feelings about it.

My initial reaction was to feel degraded, unwanted, and foolish. The inner critic in me had a field day, seizing this opportunity to try and re-build a wall around my open and vulnerable heart by presenting a slide show of sad sack scenarios in my head. While all of these images were meant to be cautionary tales designed to protect me, they really only served to temporarily disconnect me from the knowledge that I am a loving and lovable woman. After I recovered from the initial shock and subsequent myriad of emotions that poured out of me, I was able to ask myself some honest questions in order to move back into a positive frame of mind.

I first looked at the idea of humiliation and pondered it for awhile. In the past, this feeling would have caused me to focus on the words and/or actions of the other person(s) involved, as I assumed they were the source of my pain. After all, we are socialized to react this way; most people would believe that it’s only normal for me to hide and lick my wounds when disregarded in this manner. However, since I believe that I get to choose how I respond to my reality, I no longer support the idea that this man’s actions somehow caused the way I’m feeling. This begs the question, what did cause me to feel humiliated? After thinking a bit more, I realized it was that pesky thing called Expectation. I had expected him to treat me in a certain way – to behave in a certain way – and he did not meet that expectation. Was that his fault? Would fault even be part of the equation? Social convention might reply with a yes to both questions. However, I am not conventional. I also do not find it very empowering to look to others to make me feel happy, comfortable, or validated.

I have come to develop a set of beliefs that loosely resemble a Western version of Buddhist philosophy. Expectation = Attachment to a specific outcome, which always has the potential of leading to Suffering. By choosing expectation, I inadvertently choose suffering. In viewing things this way, I am able to restore my sense of personal power; by seeing clearly that the pain I felt was the result of a series of choices, I am also able to see that I can (at any time) choose differently and take things in a different direction.

I find myself returning to a truth that I already knew: I can’t control this man, and I wouldn’t want to. His actions have to do with his business, not mine. They have served me, though, and very well – by showing me how I don’t wish to be treated, he has once again clarified for me what I do want in a partner. As long as I am working through the heartbreak of unrequited love, I will need these reminders to keep me focused on being open to someone who will treat me with respect and consideration, who would not hesitate to meet me half way with a mutual desire to build a solid, loving relationship.

The last time I was this heartbroken, I was in college and recovering from a boy who left me and married someone else. After that experience, I closed up shop and vowed I would never be hurt like that again. It would be dishonest for me to say that the temptation to do the same thing hasn’t occurred to me with this current situation. However, I am a grown woman now; I know my worth in a way that I did not back then, and I know the value of focusing on the essence of my desire rather than the specifics of what has not been fulfilled. My experience has shown me this: when I release resistance to what is in my present and remain receptive to all possibilities, the things and people I draw into my life are even better than I could have imagined.

This time, my heart will remain open and willing. Knowing how much desire and feeling I have put out into the Universe where this current man is concerned, I’m pretty damn excited to meet the man who is ready, willing, and able to respond to my great love.

Posted in allowing, beliefs, deliberate focus, focus, healing, heartache, humiliation, love, personal philosophy, perspective, relationships, self-care, transformation | Leave a comment