they say

I waited all day for a call.  And the call never came.

They tell me I have a right to be angry and a right to exact revenge.  Some have suggested that I should get even and refuse future favours.  Some have suggested that I should yell and rage and even get upset. But none of it feels genuine or really an appropriate response for our modern family.  We are close.  We spend all occasions together, including mother's day and birthdays.  We look out for one another.  We buy one another presents and dinner.  We are kind to one another.  There is no animosity.  We tackle life together.  Except somehow all of this seems to have been forgotten or overlooked, on Christmas day.

The truth is that I agreed to let my 5yr old son travel with his father and girlfriend for Christmas and they either forgot, or chose not to call me.  And it hurt my feelings.  Nothing more, nothing less.  And I chose to not call them.

If my son was older, I think I may have chosen differently.  My son is a free spirit who lives in the moment. And amidst a sea of loving adults and new gifts, I am certain that he did not stop for more than a minute to even reflect on the fact that I was existing independent of our time together.  I know this about him.   I love this about him.  That is also the magic of being 5yrs old.  When you are truly loved and lucky, the world does not require you to think beyond yourself.

I made a conscious choice to not create drama for any of us.

I chose to not become a topic of conversation over a bowl of chips and a glass of wine whispered in hushed tones between well meaning ex-family members.  I chose to not create a conversation surrounded around the myth of the poor ex-wife who spent Christmas home with her parents and slept in their basement.  What should he have done?  Does he owe her anything?  What would you do?  I wonder how she is holding up?  

I chose to protect my heart and my pride.  And while I have all the perspective in the world tells me that my son did not spend the holidays in a hospital for sick children or in a shelter...but was instead surrounded by love, gifts, warmth and laughter, my feelings were hurt...and my heart got squeezed.

Perspective is important...but it's surely no cure for a wounded heart.

on feeling lucky...

I woke up minutes before he did, and was lucky enough to simply watch him breath. I could tell he was still dreaming by the small movements his eyes insisted on making underneath his delicate eyelids. I can still see the scar made by my fingernail on his left eye, when I scratched his brand new skin which was only a few hours old, the branding of a new mother, if you will. I notice that his hair has grown long already and wonder if it's possible that he has grown 3 inches in as many months. How did we both get here? I watch him lay still, because it's such a novel thing, to see my energetic son, who moves at the speed of light leaving a trail of giggles and dirt, remain peaceful and still. His eyes wince open too soon and he sighs, arching into me, ceding dreams to daytime. He blinks and watches me, strangely wordless, and I wonder, for a brief moment, if my whole life was designed to lead me to that moment. It had to be, yet how could it be. We stretch and start the day.

 ********************

We ache and groan and lace up our skates because at this point, each practice is another mile closer to the end of a long marathon season. We have intentions of showing up consistently, but fatigue, families and injuries have gotten the best of us, yet we show up when we can, embattled warriors. We are tired. We are over committed and we have sacrificed so many things to be here; most of which are owed to the ones we love. But there are new skaters to train and a coach to respect and a vow to keep to one another. It is one of those things you continue to do when you love a sport. So we show up. And once we are warmed up and our aches fade away, we allow ourselves the opportunity to leave stress behind, sometimes only for minutes at a time. We pull one another, we push one another, we skate, stop, break, jump and we trust one another. When you trust one another, you take risks and allow yourself to be great. I know my derby sisters feel the same because I see it in their eyes that meet mine during a break or across the track and I feel connected to them in ways that I will never quite be able to let go and I wonder, for another brief moment, how in the world I am ever going to give this up. Yet somehow I have to, maybe not now, but soon.

********************

I wander through my house, silently, and silently note that it still doesn't always feel like it's mine. It is frequently empty, sometimes noisy, always messy but full of life and full of things I have chosen for myself but I still sometimes feel disconnected from it all. I look at this new life that I have carefully yet unconsciously crafted for myself in two short years. I used to be a wife. Now I am not.  However I remain connected to many other things, things that matter.  There is a small-ish house with painted cinder blocks and strange angles that has heard laughter and music and felt love greater than I thought possible at this point in my life. There is a vehicle I have always wanted to own, which really costs me too much money, but certainly soothes my soul and gives me a sense of autonomy that was missing for many years. There is a backyard with a tree that is ripe for climbing and a garden where I might one day plant roots and a giant tree out front that will one day house a swing. There is a dream job that I usually end up figuring out, on most days, albeit with lots of coffee, support from colleagues and a sense of humour. And there are friends who have become the family that I have gotten to choose. And lately I wonder, even on the loneliest of nights, how I ever got so lucky in life.

on bullshit...

I read something online today about letting go and trusting that good things will, one day, come my way. It resonated because I have a hard time with that. I want to believe that amazing things are in my future. But I dont always believe that I will live life as richly and profoundly as I have once have. My life has never been perfect, in fact it's been full of glorious highs and devastating lows. While I don't miss the lows, those highs, oh, they were so sweet. Does one have to be present to will the other into existence? I have known what it is like to feel intoxicated by the smell of a street in Russia, by the look of a new lover across a crowded bar, or by the sound of children tap dancing shirtless in New Orleans in July. As I type these words, the hairs stand up on my arms, because I remember feeling so vividly alive, in those moments. Life has changed dramatically in 2 years. I am still lucky, but in a different way. In a calmer, gentler way...which doesn't involve my life's previous highs nor does it contain those lows. I have blogged about it previously (in another life) wondering if it was possible that the universe had positioned me in a 'leveling out' phase of life because I have had too much awesome, too much luck, too much grace for my mere 38 years on this planet. Bullshit. 

***
I spend alot of time alone. I don't mind being alone, it's a nice change. I am learning to appreciate my own company. I think it's an acquired taste for most of us. Until recently, I didn't know much about my recent self. Now I do. I have changed alot in some ways, but remain rooted in my past, in fundamental ways. But it's easy, alone at 3am, to get caught up in your own ethos. It's human nature to believe your own bullshit and not question beliefs, plans and values. I do it frequently, until life offers me chance encounters whereing I get talk or correspond with someone truly amazing. And it always makes me question everything I have ever believed. I usually land in about the same place, but for a short period, a single individual's words, or gaze, or laugh...occupies everything in the world. I draw them in and draw myself out, for a brief period, sometimes minutes, sometimes days, sometimes months...but I always find my way back again only slightly different, in subtle ways. I would like to believe that a dozen or so people have fundamentally altered my perception about myself and the world and I would thank them for that, if I could. Only I wont, because it would be awkward and strange. Bullshit. 

***

As I walk through town on a cold Thursday, as I wander across the street for a hot cup of coffee, as I stroll through the market on Saturday, will my eyes rest on someone amazing? How many amazing people do I already know? Am I seeing them as they wish to be seen? Can that ever change? Will we reach for the same bunch of bananas and feel electricity in the air? Will I read a tweet over coffee that will stay with me for days? Will I catch a sideways glance at the gas station as we are both waiting to pay and buy milk? Will I stop believing my own bulllshit and actually stand open, ready to meet amazing people and allow life to once again have those intoxicating highs which I long for? Are those highs really productive or just childish fantasies that I have created in my mind? Will I stop analyzing past present and future people with a view figuring it all out? Will I admit that I am a creature of my own bullshit, no more, no less and am beautiful and flawed and capable of so much more life, if I just stop bullshitting myself? Bullshit? Hard to tell.

on sex...

I am a sucker for sexy.  It feeds me and makes me feel alive.  Some people crave mountains and fresh air.  I crave the intertwine of limbs, fistfulls of hair and the stealing of a breath from my lover's mouth.  I dream of skin, tangled sheets, sweat and moans.  I love moans.  A moan can communicate a whole paragraph at a time.

I didn't know, before recently, that my thoughts on sex might be anything but normal.  I thought everyone imagined getting friends and aquaintances naked, even innappropriate ones and blushed when they had to share a car ride or line up for coffee.  It doesn't mean you love someone.  It means you lust for them.  There is a real difference, if you care to admit it.  Who knows what truth actually lies between someone's sheets. There is a part of someone that you can only ever get to know, when you are sharing pleasure. 

I've always deeply understood most men when they discussed libido and thinking about sex all day long.  I've never flinched or questionned; I related.  And whenever a woman spoke about her lack of libido, or her ability (or worse pride) in going for days and weeks and months without sex, I thought she was exaggerating.  Why would you want to go without something that feels so good.  There have been exceptions...an occasional female who was like minded...or an occasional male who had low drive, but these have been my experiences so far.  There is a whole other post about about my past relationships to sex and control and abuse, but it's not what keeps me up at night.  Sex and everything surrounding is what sets my mind on fire at 4am.

My relationship with sex keeps evolving.  And I keep seeking to understand it on a more philosophical and emotional level.  I now own my desire. I share it with those I trust, or those I choose.  I now see that sex has power and can be used as a drug, a shield or as a weapon.  It opens doors and reels people in.  It reasserts control or pushes people away.

Except that really and truly, there are times that sex doesn't do any of those things.  I only want it to do all of those things.

So that is one more thing I have learned about sex.

on playing roller derby...

I play roller derby and it consumes almost every part of my life.  It's not a bad thing, please dont be mistaken.  I choose this.  But it is hard to understand if you aren't involved. Some people think about it like a cult.  I prefer to think about it like a lifestyle.  You become a derby girl (or guy) and things change.

It all started about 3 years ago, when someone casually mentionned it on my gym's website.  I am the cliche girl who had recently seen "Whip It" and wondered (out loud) if it was something I could do.  I quickly dismissed it because there was no way I was that cool.  Only cool people played roller derby.  Also, roller derby would never happen in my small town.  Also I had no skating background.  Also, again there was no possible way I could do something so cool.  Yet somehow, amidst doubts and neurosis, I ordered skates, I trusted myself to try it and now I play, alot.   

The first time I laced up, I was terrified.  I had no knowledge about anything skate-related.  I just trusted a friend who did.  My (then) husband joked about my inability to properly stand, or even stop.  It was more than true. I threw myself on the lawn the first time I wanted to stop.  That was my baseline. I was that girl.  Playing and skating with other people seemd almost impossible when I needed my front lawn to safely stop.  Yet somehow, despite my extreme anxiety, I showed up to my first practice.  It wasn't pretty. 

Little by little, I learned to trust my legs.  I started to training off skates, with a view to improving my skating.  I learned that while I am not fast, or agile, that I am solid and strong and can work on improving my weaknesses.  I learned that girls of all backgrounds, shapes, sizes, colors, beliefs and experiences could form a great pack, if they were all dedicated to the same goal. 

I have learned that my body can do amazing things, even pushing 40.  I have learned to trust my instinct and my heart. I have learned that people can astound and surprise you, in the most beautiful of ways.  I have learned that aggression and elegance can coexist on a circular track.  I have learned that I can sometimes do what once seemed impossible.

The thing about roller derby, aside from the practices, the dry land training, the bouts, the training camps, the committee work and the emails....is that it creeps into your heart, when you aren't even looking.  It takes up residence in your thoughts and in your social life.  You soon start to make plans around it.  You one day start to daydream about it. You eventually start to think about little else...and you are strangely ok with it.

This weekend...just a little over three years after buying my first pair of skates, after countless hours of practice, a dislocated shoulder, a concussion, many tears, many beers and more laughter and fun than I can remember having since my teenage years...I am lacing up as Captain of Team Disciples in a co-ed roller derby game.  I haven't yet decided or committed to playing another season, so this could very well be my last game.  And if it is, I can think of no greater way than to end on this note.

Roller derby saved my soul. 

on fear and hope...

There's always too much noise, followed by too much silence.  Days and hours spent shushing, chasing, comforting and consciously trying to not check out followed by darker days which are filled with silence, alcohol, solitude and bad choices. 

My son is still so young and so alive...and deserves so much more of me than I ever seem to be able to give.  Turn down the radio in the Jeep.   Talk to him.  Leave that phone on the table.  Turn off the TV.  I repeat these things silently to myself half of the week.  Sometimes I get it right, other times I don't.  This time is short. Everyone else can wait.  I can also wait.  I tell myself this frequently when days get hard.

He senses that I am lonely lately and asks me sometimes whether I will have a wife or a husband one day. His eyes always seem bluer to me when he asks these questions.  He has been asking with increasing frequency lately.   It seems, on some days, that the color of his eyes can penetrate my soul. Why are his eyes so blue, I wonder?  I fear the day that he realizes his power over me.  When he gazes directly at me, I can't withhold any of my truths.  It feels like a punch to the gut, every time.  I always stop and look at him directly and say that I don't know, but I surely hope so.  I surely hope so.

I look around at the world, thinking that I can do this again.  Want.  Desire.  Trust.  And some days I almost convince myself that I will.  There has been a girl who taught me that my mind was beautiful and my body worthy of respect and appreciation.  She reminded me that love was patient and kind and I almost let myself fall.  Almost. Only I didn't, before it was too late.  There was a boy, cocky and brash, who reminded me that I could laugh and roar and that freedom was something worth celebrating.  He made me feel invincible and sexy.  And I almost let go, except I didn't.  And there have been others, some short lived, some continuing, who's mere words or gaze, tempt me to crack open my rusty heart, to try again. Only so far I haven't.  But I think about it. I continue to think about it.  

For now I remain scattered between noise and silence on so many things.  There is a child who relies on me to be his light and during that time, there is no room for continual darkness.  Fear and hope.  Noise and silence.