the cute couple...

...at The Grind, sitting next to (instead of across from) each other, while eating biscotti and drinking double espressos? Adorable. The boy is writing in a Moleskine notebook and occasionally reading aloud to the girl, who is reading Steinbeck. I wish I were 22 again. Moreso I wish a cute writerly boy had things to read out loud to me about. I suppose my desire to be someone's muse hasn't abated as much as I'd thought/hoped.

dylan on the brain

Perhaps it's the lyrics (...maybe it's the weather or something like that...) or perhaps it's me remembering the chill in the air when I saw Allen Touissant perform the most heart-wrenching version of the song I'd ever heard, but it's that time of year when Mama You Been on My Mind takes up residency in my head. And this year, there are a lot of people on my mind...

My grandmother, who would have turned 83 on Sunday were she still alive. She's been gone for almost nine years, but there are few days that pass when I don't miss her at least a little bit. Mostly, I get sad that she wasn't able to see me get my life together... but then there are also moments when I remember that I used her as my "higher power" when I first got sober, and I don't think I'd have made it this far without the strength of her love and its memory.

My father, whose 57th birthday passed a few weeks ago, and with whom I've only recently been in contact after seven years of not speaking. I think about going down to Texas to help him with his business for a few weeks this winter, but then I also wonder if the desire to do so isn't just another instance of me setting myself up for disappointment. I'm on the verge of something wonderful with my father, but I can't tell if it's what I've always dreamed of (a good relationship with a father who loves me the way I need to be loved) or yet another spiritual awakening, one which will allow me to come to terms with what I have (an okay relationship with a father who loves me the only way he can). As with everything, more will be revealed.

My brother, who seems to be in the throes of an addiction to alcohol that leaves me powerless. I didn't realize things were so bad until I visited him last May, but now that I have I've been able to put my own enabling behavior in perspective. But he'll be visiting soon -- either early November on his own, or early December with my father -- and I have been thinking a lot about how I want to behave, what I want to tolerate, what I need strength for and what will come easily.

My mother, with whom I don't know that I'll ever again have contact. I understand her behavior much less readily than I did that of my father, and I don't miss her in the way I ever missed him. But I still think about her, I still feel empathy for how difficult the choices of her life must have been, and I still pray that she is well.

jj, because I see him on my Google chat list all the time, which makes me miss New York City as well as the wealth of possibility that seems to present itself every time I visit but also disappears every time I leave. I think there are so many things that might happen if only I could... but I can't and so they won't (or at least not for now). And I think about him visiting Chicago, seeing my city the way I've seen his, and I wonder if that will change anything, though I know it won't.

The Philosopher, because even though we aren't meant for each other, we still shared a lot of history and -- in some sense -- there isn't anyone else in the world who knows what I used to be (when I was 24, and 25) and all the ways in which I've changed since then. To be fair, he doesn't have any clue who I am today, but he knows at least that part of my life, and there isn't anyone else in the world who does.

There's just a sense in which autumn brings out a sense of nostalgia for all the things I've wanted and never got, the things I pine for but can't have, and the things I have but which aren't quite enough. And this year it's all tempered by the fact that -- at one year sober -- I know that all I'm going to do by fostering that nostalgia is completely unsettle my life. And so I turn back to Dylan, whose song sums it all up not by saying he wants anything to happen or has any expectations for the future, but just wants to put it out there, to make it known, to share the facts: you're on my mind. And so you are, all of you. Namaste.

101/1001 progress report

Since my last progress report, I've completed:

#62 (officially earn my MA in TESOL), which doesn't mean I've walked across any stages lately, but just that I received a letter in the mail from the dean congratulating me on completing all of the requirements for my degree. Highlight: finishing a degree I began two weeks after finding out I had a brain tumor and the first semester of which I completed after having brain surgery two weeks in (and being told I could only take two weeks off or lose my funding -- and insurance). This feels like a real accomplishment.

#70 (celebrate one year of sobriety), on September 26. Highlight: feeling like a princess the whole day.

#72 (get rid of my expensive "new" car), on 9/17. Highlight: already losing four pounds from walking everywhere. Also, getting comfortable riding my bike.

I've begun:

#42 (visit the spa at least once a month), on 9/18 because I was starting to get a cold (or maybe allergies?) and needed an herbal wrap. Highlight: falling asleep on a Japanese cot in the relaxation room, and sleeping for the better part of three hours in such a peaceful and healing environment.

I also purchased Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World yesterday while browsing at Borders with H. before going to see Kafka on the Shore at The Steppenwolf, which is Step No. 1 in completing #95 (bake every cupcake in that cookbook).

two favorite things from tonight

1. crawling around in the grass on my hands and knees after the meeting, looking for J.'s car keys, which had fallen off his ring when he was giving a piggyback ride to Rebel. I don't know if I'll ever get the grass stains out of the knees of my favorite denim capris, but it was 100% worth seeing the look of gratitude on J.'s face when I said, "I found them!"

2. seeing the peaceful look on Rebel's face as J. carried him, sleeping, up the stairs to my apartment, after which he took off Rebel's shoes and tucked him into bed. That sound? Oh, it's just me falling even harder for this man who continues to surprise me. Swoon, times two thousand.

anniversary recap

Someone asked me this morning how my anniversary celebration went, and my response was, "I felt like a princess all day," and I'm not joking: I felt like Cinderella, except after she was vindicated. From a billowing white Banana Republic dress and gold Chinese Laundry shoes to my mother's artisan-made amethyst ring (which I'd promised myself I'd wear after a year, since amethyst symbolizes sobriety) and a vintage embroidered bag, I might as well have also donned a tiara for how fabulous I felt.

And it wasn't just because I'd made it to a year -- it was also because of the fellowship and the love I received throughout the day. The Sassy Blonde presented me with a coin; Uncle Eddie gave me a coin he carried the first two years of sobriety; and my sponsor passed around a card and presented me with yet another coin. A solid dozen of us went to Trattoria Trullo for dinner, and when I went to the washroom I returned to find a candle-clad dessert, at which point they all sang "Happy Birthday" and I just about cried out of joy. And then J. and I walked home, arm in arm, and he stayed until 1am, us just getting to know each other better (and yet still taking things extremely slow -- glacial, even, given our mutual promiscuous pasts).

Life is not just good, it's amazing. Namaste.

one year later...

...I am no longer filled with self-doubt and an inner suspicion that the life I'd led so far -- unhappy, unfulfilled, and completely disconnected from all of humanity -- was because that's the best I deserved. I don't let people treat me badly anymore. I know when to walk away -- and really walk away, not just shutting up and sitting on my hands and holding my tongue and waiting for the right time to strike back. Whereas I used to say "yes" when I meant "no" -- or "no" and then felt terribly guilty -- even when at my utmost limits, today I know that I can't give away what I don't have, be it time or love or energy or hope. I know what to do not only when I'm angry or hurting or sad, but also when I'm happy or excited or inspired. I've stopped sitting around waiting for something exciting -- or even just life -- to happen, and I've started making it happen all around me. I feel grown up not because I have the freedom to do whatever I want but because I have the inner strength, courage, and faith to take care of myself, and I don't need anyone or anything else to complete the fabulous person I am. In other words: I've just finished my first year of sobriety. Here's to hoping the second year is just as amazing. Namaste.

the irony of life?

J. came over after the meeting tonight and said, "There's something I need to tell you about me before things go any further, because I really like you a lot," and of course I was all freaked out that he was going to tell me he's secretly a rapist or serial killer or something, so when he said, "I'm conservative, really conservative, as in I believe in free markets and individualism," all I could do was laugh, laugh, and laugh some more. We had a nice long conversation about my past -- including my time working for libertarian think-tanks and how The Philosopher and I met through our involvement in Objectivism (think Ayn Rand) -- and how it didn't really matter all that much to me because (a) I'm an adult and think that politics -- like religion -- is largely a matter of deeply held personal beliefs and (b) I understand where he's coming from because (i) I've been there and (ii) haven't completely stopped being there (I come across to most people like a raging liberal, and I am on many issues, but I'm also a complex person who isn't easily boxed into one category or the other). Turns out, though, that many women he's dated in the past have been completely turned off but such revelations and my NOT being appalled took things, uh, to a different level between us this evening. Let's just say that I think the doubts are few and the certainty is high, and I'm looking forward to celebrating my one-year sobriety anniversary with him tomorrow night. Namaste.

deeper thoughts than usual

For reasons completely unrelated to my romantic life, this afternoon I read an article on a Jewish dating site about dating over 35. Since I, uh, am 35 and currently dating and have always felt a cultural affinity for Jews, I was curious (after a search for "how to help someone who is angry" led me to the site in question)... and while I didn't much relate to the parts about studying Torah and "practicing" Judaism (though I guess I could in the sense that dating outside of the program feels a bit like sacrilege at this point), I did get quite a bit out of the article. The basic point? That while we should all be quite happy with our lives as they are, we shouldn't run around saying "oh, I love being single! it's the best thing EVER!" if what we're really working toward is a long-term relationship (perhaps ending in marriage?) because then we set ourselves up to a lifetime of being single. Whereas if we view ourselves as someone who could be one-half of a really great partnership, we can prepare ourselves for the sort of compromise, connection, and openness that come with being in a real, adult, fulfilling relationship. Part of that whole creative visualization thing, perhaps?

It kinda shocked me to realize I agree... and that, without really realizing it, this is a transformation I've gradually been making over the past few weeks, after it occurred to me that I'm tired of wasting my time with people who are -- don't get me wrong -- fun and easy-going and all that jazz, but (probably?) not guys who I saw myself in a partnership with. I'm still undecided on that whole marriage thing -- get back to me next week and you'll get a different answer than right now -- but I do know that the Julie Delpy character in 2 Days in Paris resonated with me 100% when, at the end of the film, she says

It always fascinated me how people go from loving you madly to nothing at all, nothing. It hurts so much. When I feel someone is going to leave me, I have a tendency to break up first before I get to hear the whole thing. Here it is. One more, one less. Another wasted love story. I really love this one. When I think that its over, that I'll never see him again like this... well yes, I'll bump into him, we'll meet our new boyfriend and girlfriend, act as if we had never been together, then we'll slowly think of each other less and less until we forget each other completely. Almost. Always the same for me. Break up, break down. Drunk up, fool around. Meet one guy, then another, fuck around. Forget the one and only. Then after a few months of total emptiness start again to look for true love, desperately look everywhere and after two years of loneliness meet a new love and swear it is the one, until that one is gone as well. There's a moment in life where you can't recover any more from another break-up. And even if this person bugs you sixty percent of the time, well you still can’t live without him. And even if he wakes you up every day by sneezing right in your face, well you love his sneezes more than anyone else's kisses.

Because that's exactly how I felt after The Goofball disappeared and left me with more questions than answers. Not that I wanted him back, but that I couldn't recover from another break-up. That I wanted something real, and tangible, and worth waiting (and fighting) for. I'm at the point where I'm done wasting time, fooling around, pretending that the choices I make don't matter because I "like" being single, because I am "happy" with my life as it is. And not because I'm lying when I say I like it and am happy (because I'm not, and I am!) but because all of this working-on-myself and getting to the point where I am 100% satisfied with me is not just so I can finally become a whole person, but also so I can be a whole person who meshes well with someone else. All the time in the rooms of the program, I see married couples -- some married for 50 years, others who met in the rooms and have been together less than five, or one -- and in addition to wanting what they have found in sobriety, I find myself wanting what they have found because of sobriety: the ability to finally commit to someone (and something) outside of themselves. And as I sit on the precipice of celebrating a year of sobriety (and find myself on another, equally scary precipice, of my first healthy relationship), I am grateful that I've changed my perspective on things. I have no idea where life will take me, but I can see what that Jewish website was talking about: I've got to start thinking of the possibilities or else I'll be trapped forever in what could have been. What an exciting prospect! Namaste.

politics, shmolitics

Those who know me will be surprised to hear me say this, because (historically) I've been a rather vocal participant in all sorts of political issues (ranging from feminist concerns to the animal rights movement), but I couldn't care less about the election. This doesn't mean that I'm not terrified of what could happen, or that I don't have strong deep-seeded opinions about the candidates, but, rather, that the sort of negative energy it takes to argue about these things and make my voice heard seems to have been removed from my being.

As I approach my one-year sobriety date and ponder on all of the changes I've made over the past twelve months, it seems to me that the removal of that negative energy is one huge accomplishment. I still hold every since opinion I held a year ago (well, politically speaking), and I haven't changed my basic standards, but I'm a lot less vocal about them, and as a result my life has become much happier. I still can't see myself marrying anyone who goes to church on a regular basis or insists on eating steak every night, but I'm quite fine dating someone (as I seem to be, now) who loves rib-eyes once a week and has conversations with (and about) God on a daily basis -- and who also happens to have graduated from high school when I was nine months old, sees a cardiologist on a regular basis for high blood pressure, and talks about retiring to Florida within the next ten years.

[I should point out that "beach house in Florida" is probably the exact opposite of "loft on the Lower East Side," which is where *I* have always seen myself in ten years. But I digress.]

The point is that any energy I might have once had to argue, debate, and convince someone else of my point of view has completely dissipated. In the program, people talk about "attraction, not promotion" -- meaning that the best way to show people that changing your life taking certain steps is to serve as an example rather than a mouthpiece -- and I've found that to be entirely accurate. And you know what? I've had more people learn about veganism and feminism and a thousand other things by just living by those principles and answering questions in a respectful manner when asked than I ever did when I went out spouting my opinions. And, I should note, this is distinctly different than what I tried before this current phase, which was pretty much sitting down and shutting up out of anxiety over conflict so as not to scare people away, which still left a discernable tension over conflicts of belief that was always there, whether I ignored it or not. Now? I just don't care about the conflict -- difference is a fact of life, and I can serve as an example (or not), but what I do and believe has absolutely nothing to do with what anyone else does or believes.

By saying this, I don't mean to imply that I believe political action is meaningless or ill-placed, because I absolutely admire the people who are taking bus rides to different states and canvassing and making phone calls to get the word out. I would still -- this minute -- participate in political events supporting the issues I hold dear, and I continue to donate money to organizations doing work supporting my values. What I'm talking about is more on an interpersonal level -- and it's pretty darn amazing, considering the oh-so-angry person I was a year ago. My relationships have improved, I'm a happier individual, and I'm finally able to love people (my children, my friends, and potential lovers) the way they deserve to be loved. Life is good, and I am grateful to be here today. Namaste.

a lovely day

J. came over for dinner last night -- pasta with sauce-from-scratch, fresh asparagus, baked onions -- and then we walked to the house for the 8pm meeting, coming back for apple pie (also made from scratch and fresh out of the oven) ala mode (vegan chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream). And throughout it all, we talked and talked and talked -- about work, mundane things, the nation's financial crisis, medical problems, our dreams, plans for the winter, hopes for travels, and a thousand other things couples across the world discuss over dinner a million times a day. The remarkable thing for me, though, is that it's been a very, very long time since I've been one-half of one of those couples; actually, I don't know that I ever have been party to the sorts of conversations and time-spent together that J. and I have been experiencing. Because the one thing he has that no one else ever has? He's a real live grown-up man who knows what he wants -- and, as a result, we are both taking appropriate steps to ensure our needs are met in a healthy and respectful manner. (Yeah, I know. What's that like?)

After dessert, I gave J. a brief back rub, and we made plans for him to come over for more pie after the meeting tonight... and, as usual, our good-bye routine was quite lovely. This is what it feels like to be falling in love, I thought as I couldn't get to sleep until past 3am from all the giddiness, and for the first time ever, it doesn't feel like a mistake. Namaste.

change-resistant (or: the fabric of my life)

It's no secret that I handle change poorly at best. I'm the one who refuses to clean out my pantry because I won't be able to find things, cries after breakups not out of loneliness but because my routines change, and slept in my living room for a week after moving out of my studio apartment because the new place felt cavernous. In early sobriety, I heard in a meeting that alcoholics startle easily, and that's why we don't like change; for me, though, those things are separate issues. I hate change, and I'll screech if you scare the bejeezus out of me. These two things are are not character defects, personality quirks I find irritating, or peccadilloes; they are just two of many facts that make me who I am. And I'm usually okay with that.

But today, doing my job (which entails keeping track of everything kid- and parent-related in three of our 50 states), I came across a number of shows coming to Chicagoland this autumn -- Backyardigans, Disney on Ice, and The Wiggles -- and I remembered a brief conversation I had with Renegade this weekend. "I'm at an odd age," he said. "I'm too old for kids' shows and I'm too innocent for teen stuff." And I laughed it off, thinking that High School Musical and The Suite Life of Zach and Cody would tide him over until his bones are strong enough for me to bring him into the mosh pits reminiscent of my own youth (a year or so down the road), because that's just life, and I can't make the tween years any easier for my son than they were for me, and at least (unlike my childhood) he's got a cool and culturally aware mother, even if he is embarrassed by my snakebite piercings and tattoos at least once a month. And so it isn't Renegade's growing-up that has me unsettled today, but, rather, Rebel's. Because, you see, he's so far surpassed the mentality of a preschooler that any pretense I had of him ever enjoying innocent, sing-song children's shows has been completely shattered.

I'm not ready for Rebel to prefer playing chess and building intricate architecturally plausible LEGO models of the Chicago skyline to seeing The Wee Hairy Beasties and Steve Songs live at the Old Town School, or the fact that he wants to learn to play banjo and guitar and accordion and harmonica and grow up to be a one-man band (his latest career aspiration), or his recent tendency to beat-box and rap his responses to simple questions such as "bananas or apples?" while attempting to break-dance. Renegade I can handle growing up because, well, he's my first-born and that's to be expected. I don't know what sort of drugs I've been taking -- or self-hypnosis I've been under -- but it never occurred to me that the baby growing up would be more painful than the first one paving the way.

I've understood for a while why people love grandchildren so much -- all of the fun, none of the mess -- but it's taken me until about 42 minutes ago to realize why anyone would even consider having another baby when the children they have are finally making their way into the world as competent less-dependent creatures. It isn't so much that I want to revisit the days of sleepless nights and poopy diapers and visits to the ER at 2am because the baby is red-hot and won't stop crying, but I miss those days -- the ones when I could nurse Rebel to sleep and all he needed to be happy and satisfied was snuggling up against me, when I could throw him in a sling and carry him around the neighborhood like a mama kangaroo, when he made the most adorable gurgling laughing sounds ever uttered from a human being, when the absolute goodness and infinite jest of the universe were compressed into a tiny little boy who was one hundred percent mine.

Every day, my children become a little bit less of me and a little bit more of the world, sort of like one of those thought experiments in a college philosophy class where you start with a bit of orange juice and add a drop of water at a time and then pontificate about when the mixture stops being drops of water added to orange juice and starts becoming water with a bit of OJ. This is a big change, I think, and I'm not entirely ready for it. What I do know: even in those thought experiments, no matter how much water you add, the OJ doesn't go anywhere. And I need to keep that in mind when I find myself startled, or scared by change, or both. Which, as it turns out, may be more than I want to realize. Namaste.

my busy weekend

Friday night: went to my regular 8pm meeting; ate dinner with sober folks at The Daily Grill; walked home with J. & engaged in some public canoodling in front of my courtyard; watched Shopgirl to remind myself why I keep getting back on the horse (so to speak); went to sleep and had oh-so-yummy dreams

Saturday: woke up early; rode with J. to the beach; met up with Uncle Eddie, The Sailor, and Birdie to pick up my new-to-me couch in Wicker Park; sunbathed with J. in his beautiful backyard; picked up the boys; ordered pizza for the sitter; walked to J.'s house, from whence we went to an 8pm meeting in Wilmette; ate dinner al fresco in Lincoln Square at La Bocca della Verita (where we shared dessert); walked home and canoodled some more

Sunday: took the boys out to breakfast at Pannenkoeken Cafe, where I ran into B. & her kiddos; drove with J. to Montrose Beach, from whence we kayaked from Montrose up to Berger Park (the lakefront between Granville and Rosemont) and back down; took a nice shower; started watching Son of Rambow with Renegade; stopped to meet J. at the 8pm meeting; walked J. home and canoodled some more; finalized dinner plans for tonight -- cappellini, baked onions, grilled asparagus, and homemade apple pie; arrived home happy and completely tuckered out from bike riding and kayaking; slept well

yummy stuff

It doesn't get much better than being walked home late at night, participating in a mini-makeout session in front of one's courtyard, followed by a sigh, an "I have to go or I won't be able to stop," another sigh, and "sweet dreams" being softly whispered in tandem before going separate ways. Life is good, eh? Namaste.

so...

...I think The Tan Man should be called something else, so I'm going to start referring to him by his first initial, J. He had to work late tonight and couldn't make dinner, but we did go to an 8pm meeting together, after which he walked me home to get the dessert I'd bought at Bittersweet because it would have gone bad if held over 'til tomorrow. And, well... we had yet another talk, this time culminating in a little cuddling (which felt spectacular) and, I think, an official declaration that J. is Off The Fence about where things are between us. Patience is a virtue, yes? And, oh boy, did he smell yummy...

:)

The Tan Man and I went out to dinner (coconut curry & pad thai), after which we sat down to talk about what, exactly, is happening.

"You're the exact opposite of the picture I had of who I'd belong with," he said. "But I can't stop thinking about you -- it's constant, all day long." And I admitted it's the same for me, and that was quite nice, to be similarly surprised and smitten.

We've agreed to continue to take things easy, and slow, and not rush into anything haphazardly, even though we concur that it would feel spectacular to do so.

And then he gave me a rather nice (albeit appropriately brief) back rub. If he'd continued for another 30 seconds, I think we'd both be in trouble right now rather than me about to call it a night, him back at home enjoying a slice of my blueberry pie with vegan ice cream I sent his way.

I'm making him dinner tomorrow night, and he's making dinner for me on Friday. Saturday, we're going to the beach in the morning and, in the evening, to the All Chicago Open (with the boys). Sunday, we're going kayaking and then making dinner together. It's very simple. Finally. Life goes on, and in a rather pleasant and exciting fashion. Namaste.

random wednesday stuff

• Google Maps has finally read my mind. Success!
• I'm glad stress levels in Chicago aren't my imagination.
• Or maybe they are, after all.
• I am totally going to make pickles.
• When I'm not done being sick. Which I am. Yuck.
  

emotional upheaval, of sorts

Even before the events of the past year, the period between mid-September and early October has been rough for me. I had brain surgery on September 30, 2005; my grandmother would be turning 83 on October 5th were she still alive; I ended a pregnancy on September 29, 2001; and, of course, there's all the emotional anguish that comes along with remembering the events of 9/11. This year, though, there's even more to add onto the pile. Tomorrow (September 17) marks the one-year anniversary of my first ACOA meeting. Sunday (September 21) is the anniversary of the day I called The Narcissist and finally said I'd had enough of the anger, abuse, and mistreatment. And, of course, September 26 is my sobriety date.

On some level, it's rough, and in a way that non-alcoholics (or non-addicts) might not understand. In the first month of sobriety, I heard "the only thing that changes the first year is everything," and I laughed. In hindsight, though, that's an absolutely correct assessment of the situation. And so while this time of year is just as difficult in some ways as every year has been since my grandmother died and I made difficult choices and I experienced the unthinkable fear of brain surgery, in other ways my life feels simply surreal today.

I haven't just changed a little bit, or in percentages or degrees, but fundamentally and existentially. Today, if I encountered someone who behaved the way The Narcissist did within the first 24 hours of meeting him in person, I would run away as fast as possible. I am able to have the beginnings of a rekindled relationship with my father without any of the old resentments or anger cropping up. Participating in romantic relationships is becoming more intuitive and less anxiety-producing. I can share my life with family, friends, and lovers in meaningful ways. I can be a good mother, neither overpowering my children nor cowering away from my responsibilities. Most of all, I know that in order to survive any of these things -- or weather any of these angst-producing anniversaries -- the only thing I need to do is ask for help and accept it when it is freely given by those who love me, not for what I can do for them or what I can give them, but because of who I am: a person of value.

What I'm trying to say is that it's all good. This is the sort of emotional turning upside down that, I believe, we should all have at least once in our lives, and I'm grateful I've been blessed with it when and how I have. Namaste.

one of those days

Things are weird. Heard from jj, who missed me while at the New York Film Festival. A while later, I got an email from Brooklyn Boy, who apparently masturbated last night while looking at photos of my cleavage. And after the meeting I interrupted a conversation between The Tan Man and Pops that was, uh, about me. Good thing that I'm under no illusion that I'm in control of anything. When I have zero expectations, I'm pleasantly surprised by pretty much everything. I think reading He's Just Not That Into You had some (positive) effect on me. Or maybe three hours of thrift shopping this afternoon did me some sort of good. Heck if I know.

this week's pie, before the oven

I forgot to take a photo after it came out of the oven, and then it was eaten before I could remember. Ah, well. There's always next week. Namaste.

an argument for growing up

Until the past couple of weeks, there haven't been many changes in the way I view relationships since I first started dating more than twenty years ago; first boys, then men, have been a means to feeling (temporarily) happy, filling up my free time, boosting my self-esteem, believing I was attractive, or a million other things -- none of them being even decent reasons for entering into a relationship with someone. Along the way I perfected the art of getting men to fall for me -- and fall hard they did -- as well as leaving as quickly as they could say "I love you." Mostly I've left before I could get hurt, causing more than a few exes to call me a hurricane, or typhoon, or whirlpool they've been ravaged by or sucked into.

But lately my sponsor has been emphasizing the practice of doing things differently, of making choices I never would have considered in the past -- whether it was out of fear or ignorance or just a lack of life skills -- because the only way we really change spiritually (the cornerstone of recovery) is through such action. This is, I believe, one reason I've felt nearly paralyzed by the situation with The Tan Man; the Old Me would have known what to do (manipulate, deceive, control, obsess, connive, infatuate), but all the New Me knows what to do is, well, what not to do. Oddly, though, this is serving me well.

It's been sudden and rapid and unexpected -- i.e., exactly how every other spiritually meaningful experience has occurred since I entered recovery -- but the past few days (and behaving differently than I would have before) have spurred me on to a deeper understanding both of what I'm looking for in a relationship and how I need to conduct myself if I don't (and I don't) want to compromise all of the growth I've made. And it may sound ridiculous (or obvious) but what occurred to me is that I'm 35 years old and haven't changed the way I conduct relationships since I lost my virginity (at age 14). And that's a long, long time to be acting like a teenage girlfriend.

Maybe all of this is due to the fact that The Tan Man is 53 years old, with a beautiful apartment and a career and an entire life he's built that is hardly dependent upon me (or anyone else), which caused me to realize that I have exactly the same things. I'm not a twenty-something girl exploring the world anymore; I'm a grown woman, with a life, and children, and a career, and all sorts of experiences that have made me who I am. I'm past the point of dating someone to grow up with them; I'm in the realm, now, of dating someone so we can share our lives. And you know what? It feels pretty darned awesome to come to terms with all of that.

I don't know where -- if anywhere -- these realizations will take me, but they feel significant tonight. For years I've been wondering when -- if ever -- I'll feel as though I've finally grown up, I'm finally an adult, I've finally passed some threshold. As with everything (it seems), it's taken time and a deeper understanding of myself, my motivations, my past mistakes, and my future hopes. It feels good. Really, really good. Namaste.

hmm & mmm

Dinner ended not with dessert but, instead, a fabulously honest conversation about where "things" are at, and then a walk home in the rain under a big umbrella. The evening itself ended with a hug and, then, a brief kiss. "You're happier than you've sounded in a while," said Uncle Eddie when I called to give him a recap. "Savor this sober moment." And, oh, I am. Yes, I am.

friday miscellany

• Want: a monochromatic painting from Benjamin Guffee.
• I started a Tumblr of my own. Visit if you like smiling.
• Roger Ebert on Sarah Palin: priceless.
• I heart Cake Wrecks like peanut butter hearts bananas.
• If someone gave me a Hello Napkin, I'd laugh. In a good way.
• My fave new blog: xkcd. Fun stuff!
  

the dinner, and then some

Arrived around 6:15pm -- after being told between 6pm and 6:30pm would be fine -- bearing gifts... or, in this case, two vegan cupcakes from The Grind. The Tan Man was making a salad (romaine, avocado, olives, fresh-picked tomatoes, mushrooms, green & red peppers, spices) and getting ready to put portobello mushrooms on the grill. Went to the backyard with him to munch on breadsticks and spinach-artichoke dip while he cooked aforementioned mushrooms. Met his neighbors and their dog. Went back inside for dinner. By candlelight. Yes, candlelight.

But then it was time for our 8pm meeting. On the way, he mentioned the grapevine would be buzzing seeing us show up together, walking (clearly) from the direction of his place. He said plenty of people are asking him if we're dating, and he tells them to mind their own business. Would've been the perfect chance for me to say, "Well, are we?" but I didn't. Of course. And I could hear -- and practically feel -- the grapevine buzz as we walked up to the house and Pops was standing there on the steps. Yes, Pops.

After the meeting, we walked back together, but parted ways at the crossroads between his house and mine. Earlier in the evening, I'd asked if he wanted to have dinner at Trattoria Trullo tomorrow night, so we confirmed that. I walked home with more questions than answers, so I called Uncle Eddie, and he encouraged me to just call The Tan Man and ask him already. Which is what I did.

The response? Maybe not as exuberant as I would've hoped, but honest. And probably the best one I could have asked for. "There's something there," he said. "And I feel comfortable around you, but I'm not sure what's happening. We should have a conversation." And, also, "I'm trying my best, in sobriety, both to not run away from things AND not run into them," and I actually agreed, since (I think?) that's what I'm attempting to do as well.

And in other news, Brooklyn Boy (not to be confused with jj) contacted me to tell me I'm looking great (he follows my 365 versions blog) lately (duh, I know), signing his email "much much love" and asking if I'll be back in NYC any time soon because he was "heartbroken" to be out of town the entire time I was there last month. I'm starting to think that if I moved to New York, my dating life would actually improve. Which, I know, is the exact opposite of what everyone says actually happens. Even long-distance, I continue to be an anomaly.

101/1001 progress report

Since last week's progress report, I've begun:

#16 (send out one essay per month), and I'm not going to say anything more about it, because I don't want to jinx it... but it's been done.

I'm not sure what I'll be doing over the next week in terms of progress, but I'm thinking I'll be able to slip in a spa visit or two, since I'm working on my 4th step and that seems like a good place to get such emotion-laden work done. Namaste.

the more things change...

I'm involved in a power struggle with The Philosopher, and I seriously dislike it. It's the same old crap he pulled the entire seven years we were together, except now he uses the kids as a manipulative tool (this new conflict is about when and how I'm "allowed" to see the boys), and I'm getting really tired of it. I'm not engaging in the whole control-and-dominate game -- in fact, I think my "new" reactions to his old behavior are throwing him off and inspiring him to even more bizarre behavior -- but it's grrr-inducing nonetheless. I suppose this is what I get for procreating with a slighly narcissistic and egotistical intellectual type.

a mixed bag

I love Tuesdays, because (until October, at least) it's Lincoln Square Farmers' Market day -- today I bought okra, red peppers, banana peppers, green peppers, potatoes, sweet potatoes, portobello mushrooms, pickled mushrooms (both spicy and garlic-basil), blueberries, tomatoes, and fresh corn. And of course, after I walked home and put all of this fresh goodness away, what I'm left with is the fact that it's deadline day. Which makes me hate Tuesdays.

Mostly, though, I'm starting to dislike working from home. It's just me, stuck here alone with my cat, day after day. The boys come over after school a couple-three days a week, but it's still fairly isolating -- and I've been doing this for two-and-a-half years at this point. I think it might finally be time to find some cheap shared office space and just spring for it... otherwise I'm here getting distracted by my life (and Netflix) a bit more than my productivity really prefers. Hmm. Something to meditate on. Meanwhile, I'm mixing up some vegetables for lunch. Lord knows I've got enough after my morning walk to the market. Namaste.

conversation with the sassy blonde

Me: So when The Tan Man rubbed oil on me...

TSB: Uh, wait a minute... when he did what?!?

Me: I didn't tell you?

TSB: Tell me what?!?!

Me: Well, the flies started biting at the beach.

TSB: And what does that have to do with rubbing oil on you?

Me: It was Skin So Soft oil.

TSB: Oh boy, he definitely likes you.

Me: Don't guys who are just friends do stuff like that?

TSB: Uh, no. Do *I* need to whomp you upside the head?

Me: Maybe.

mental relaxation

Last night, I decided I was going to stay in bed today until I felt damn well like getting up. Which meant I was there until, uh, 3pm. And I would probably still be there if Renegade hadn't come over after school. I'm wearing my Bitch magazine t-shirt, yoga pants, and slippers... and unless The Sassy Blonde drags me out of the house for the 8pm meeting, this is exactly where I'm staying (working, now, of course). Except to leave for a vegan cupcake and a vanilla latte at The Grind. And, oh, to mail my Netflix so I can get the last disc of Gossip Girl Season One ASAP. Priorities, people.

progress...?

Our weekly sober Family Dinner was tonight. In attendance: The Tan Man, Uncle Eddie, Shaft, Saint Paul, me. The menu: Thai take-out (Uncle Eddie didn't have time to cook, and it was his turn to bring the main entree); spinach-artichoke dip (I made) with breadsticks and French bread; and blueberry-raspberry pie (which I also made).

And, oh, I stayed after to wash The Tan Man's dishes (since he sliced his thumb open while cutting bread earlier in the evening), and then he walked me home, and then we made plans to have dinner and see a movie at his place mid-week. However, I am still unsure whether he likes me likes me or he's simply bored.

(Did I mention we spent six hours together on the beach yesterday AND went on the cruise together AND had dessert afterwards -- albeit with a group of friends -- and, today, were at the beach for three hours after riding our bikes along the lakefront for a bit AND while on the beach he rubbed Skin So Soft oil on my body when the flies started biting? Last night he said he needs women to hit him over the head if they like him; I'm beginning to believe I need to be whomped upside my head -- or something -- as well.)

the cruise...

...was, uh, interesting. Pops showed up with The Jesus Freak (who asks all men to accept Jesus Christ as their personal savior before agreeing to go out with them) as his date; The Old-Timer's girlfriend was revealed to be The Meek Mom (a TOTAL surprise); Uncle Eddie brought The Crazy Chick as his date (what?!?!); and The Seaman and The Sassy Blonde -- at various points throughout the evening -- had their legs wrapped around each other, were hugging and nuzzling, and generally seemed to be more than just friends. Meanwhile, I made very little progress with The Tan Man, other than we have tentative plans to -- eventually, at some indeterminate time -- visit the Graceland Cemetery (yes, I know, how romantic...) and take in the Burnham exhibit at the Art Institute. And, of course, kayaking tomorrow. If it doesn't rain. Which means it totally will. Sigh.

hmm...

The Tan Man called me tonight, and we talked for the better part of half an hour. During the conversation, I invited him to the opening of Turn of the Century at The Goodman, and he said yes. So I've just got, oh, the next two weeks to fret about that now.

conversation

Uncle Eddie: So who's this crush you keep mentioning?

Me: It's not completely obvious by my silly behavior?

UE: Oh, just tell me.

Me: I'd like it more if you guessed.

UE: Is he over 50, quite tan, and in remarkable shape for his age?

Me: See, I knew it was obvious. What should I do?

UE: Lay a big kiss on him at the cruise tomorrow night.

Me: Uh, not gonna happen.

UE: He might be shy. Or afraid of the age difference. Do something.

Me: You mean sitting around wondering if he likes me isn't going to send telepathic messages his way that will magically move him to fall madly in love with me?

UH: Uh, no.

Me: Damn.

101/1001 progress report

Since last week's progress report, I've completed:

#36 (learn how to kayak), on Lake Michigan, from The Tan Man. Highlight: getting back to the van and discovering my change purse (contents: money for the week, my driver's license, my debit card, and my BlackBerry) had been stolen.

#75 (ride my bike along the lakefront path), from Wilson to Foster, which I know isn't a lot, but it does count. Highlight: the fact that I rode my bike for the first time since I purchased it in, oh, May 2006.

There are a few things I'm slacking on in terms of the "once a month" stuff -- send out one essay per month (#16); read one classic novel per month (#17); and visit the spa at least once a month (#42) -- but I've decided that those things can be a average... so I'll have to double up this month. I'm sure it will be very difficult to go to the spa twice in September. Namaste.

random wednesday stuff

You know how the first time you take off riding a bike on your own, your dad (or mom) lets go, and you're doing it, you're riding on your own, you're balancing, you're not crashing, and... holy crap!... you're riding a bike... what the hell?!?!... and then... you fall because you become too self-conscious? That's kinda how I feel tonight about my sobriety. One year? Are you kidding me? This is the longest I've gone since I was, oh, 12 or 13 without having a drink. I need to get more used to the idea of riding without training wheels.

***

I really like The Tan Man, and -- as a direct result of my schoolgirl crush on a man, oh, at least 18 or 19 years my senior -- I'm starting to act like a complete idiot around him. Some days I shouldn't be let out of the house. Or at least not without a muzzle. And possibly tranquilizer darts for when I get ahead of myself.

***

Since I've come back from NYC, I've barely heard from jj. I'm trying to be okay with that. I gave it what I could, and that wasn't enough, unless he's just biding his time to tell me how infatuated he is. Generally speaking, though, guys who are really into someone don't hide it. Sigh.

***

This fall-like weather is exciting. I love my fall clothing -- fishnet stockings and mini skirts and boots and funky jackets coupled with the ability to wear makeup without it melting off my face in about four seconds. It almost makes up for the fact that I am boyfriendless.

***

I spent 45 minutes online today, researching anti-aging skincare products. Most of them involve some form of retinol which, of course, makes you more sensitive to the sun. The irony isn't lost on me that I'm waiting to order said products until sunbathing season is over.

***

I'm going on a sober cruise this Saturday. I'm already obsessing about wearing the perfect outfit. Why? Because every single man in my social circle is going to be there, and -- of course -- this is my chance to demonstrate how fabulous I am. (Note to self: have The Sassy Blonde bring a tranquilizer gun...)

spiritual growth

At yesterday's 6:30pm meeting, the topic was about how a willingness to change is the basis of all spiritual growth. It occurred to me (somewhat because of the meeting, but mostly after talking to my sponsor about something troublesome) that I keep doing the same things and expecting different results. Yes, I've stopped engaging in an encyclopedic array of negative behaviors. And yet... when it comes to certain things (most specifically, my relationships with men and my work situations), I'm a walking broken record.

When things like this happen, when I can feel my spirituality deepening as it unfolds, it's as though I am sitting inside of the bud of a rose as it blooms. It's as exciting as anything I've ever experienced, and the anticipation of what's waiting out there for me when the flower has opened up completely is absolutely exhilarating. Namaste.

careful what you wish for

This morning The Philosopher and I headed down to a psychiatrist's office in Ravenswood to get the results from nearly six hours of neuropsychological tests said psychiatrist performed on Renegade while I was in NYC. We're trying to (finally) get some sort of picture as to why he has so many social problems and difficulty in the classroom. And today we did get an answer, albeit one that we weren't necessarily expecting: He's gifted, and not mildly so. In fact, on all of the measurements he consistently placed as being at around college age (grade 13.2 to 16.5) achievement level, and his IQ is in the "exceptionally gifted" range -- for those of you familiar with statistics, he's three standard deviations above the norm. And every single aberration from the "norm" society sets for children in general? Can be explained by his giftedness.

The No. 1 recommendation of the psychiatrist is to advance Renegade at least one if not two more grade levels as soon as possible. The social problems he has are, apparently, ones that will be present no matter what grade he's in (and he gets along fabulously with adults, which is a sign that it's more of an intellectual disconnect than a true problem with social norms). And, also, it was noted that once he gets into high school niches and cliques are formed, and the sorts of frustrations he has now are much less worrisome then -- or at least he can find a group of kids who will accept him the way he is rather than being lumped into classes with kids who can be real jerks sometimes.

And so if I was struggling with having one child who's five years old going into 3rd grade (that would be Rebel), it's even more to grapple with to find out that I'll probably have an 11-year-old in 8th grade, if not high school, by the end of the month. This is reminiscent of enrolling Rebel in pre-kindergarten only to pick him up from the first day of school to find out that the teachers had decided he belonged in 1st grade (he was three at the time).

I know I should be grateful to have such high-class problems -- and I am completely and totally amazed and blessed to have these boys in my life -- but it's still freaking me out just a bit. Yeah. That's it. Namaste.