A Story About a Story

I have loved Laurie Anderson since high school. I'm not sure how I even became aware of her at that age. She's an experimental performance artist and I was into Duran Duran and Wham! back then. I go years without listening to her though, and then when I do, I fall in love all over again. Her latest album (which is a soundtrack of her film), Heart of a Dog, is layered with music but is mostly spoken. Her voice is beautiful and mesmerizing and the theme surrounds the life and death of her dog, Lola Belle. Which, that piece alone, makes it interesting and easy for me to relate to. But it's interspersed with stories of her fascinating and incredibly interesting life. I can't believe I've never named her as someone I'd like to have dinner with because I would, very very much.

I shared a piece from the album with a friend, who then introduced me to Max Richter. I sat and listened to three instrumental albums right in a row immediately. I realized how absolutely beautiful music is, and in so many forms. Some of what I listened to was heartbreakingly sad, but that made it so much more lovely.

These last few months have been dark and I fear it will only get darker. I've been teetering on the edge of my own Great Depression and I have to keep moving, moving. Stopping my whirlwind of activity and scheduling of my time means I might just topple over into an emotional abyss. The depression is there and the negativity I see everywhere with our current climate is overwhelming.

J and I had a conversation yesterday about how easy it is to hate what is happening, what is being said, done, and the people saying it. And it is. It is so easy. But I can't do it. I just can't, because it will drag me down into that quicksand of depression that I might not be able to pull myself out of next time. So I told her that we have to focus on the positive, the good, and the good that is the majority. The hate makes the most noise, it's easy to be distracted. It does take work to bypass it, but it has to be done.

So last night, when I was losing myself in the melodies, I was reminded of the ways that I find beauty every day. Music. The obvious sunset. The look of love and adoration in my dog's eyes and her trust in me. My daughter, a life I had the absolute privilege of creating and being a part of. Friendships and unforgettable memories with friends. The women I meet in my business who share intimate parts of themselves with me. The most beautiful things are intangible, but they also make us who we are.

While we feel that some of our rights are being stripped away during what is most likely to become an infamous period of history, we still have beauty. Friendships and memories and love are things that can't be taken from us. The beauty we find and that we must look for and hold onto is what will sustain and strengthen us. I believe this, not only because I have to, but because it is what's true. The greater truth is in love.

Saying Goodbye

It's been a long, long time coming but it's finally here. My last night in Bend.

I've been here 22 years. While I've spent the majority of that time wishing to be somewhere else, this has been my home. For better or worse. Twenty two years is a lifetime. I got married, had a baby, got divorced, I've had other important relationships, friendships. I've had jobs, said a temporary goodbye to some and permanent goodbyes to others. I moved here the day after I graduated from college so, basically, I've grown up here. Ups, downs. Happiness, heartbreak. It's hard to quantify that many experiences.

Since making final plans to leave three weeks ago, it's been the proverbial roller coaster of emotions. In one day I literally jumped up and down for joy and then broke down in tears approximately 7.8 minutes later. Last week I had the what-the-fuck-am-I-doing meltdown. As in, this is a mistake and I should stay Here because This is what I know. But what we know isn't necessarily good for us and by the time I walked into work the next morning I knew I was doing the Right Thing.

Tonight I spent time with the two people that I think I was meant to spend the Last Night with. They reminded me of the best parts about being here. The best parts are the friendships I've made. The friends that were there when I needed them. The ones who made me laugh through the tears. The ones who commiserated over The Job and kids and the deaths of relationships. The ones who made living here bearable, if not possibly worth it.

What this chapter of my life amounted to is these friendships and the lessons they've taught me. I can do the things I want to do. I have choices. I know gratitude. There is real love in my life. It didn't come in the form of Prince Charming. It arrived in these beautiful, strong, smart, funny, dependable, witty women. The friendships I least expected turned out to be the best and the most meaningful.

So, while I'm saying goodbye, I feel it's not a real goodbye. These are the relationships that will last. We'll sit outside on a summer evening once again discussing our troubles, our joys, reminiscing over the moments that brought us together. We'll profess our love over cocktails, passing down these small rites to our daughters.

People say that Bend has a lot to offer. And it does. It's spectacularly beautiful in the summer. It's a skier's paradise in the winter. You love beer? Well, this is the place. Me? I'm going to take these offerings of friendship with me. The lessons of gratitude. The moments of laughter and the acceptance of my tears.

Ladies, thank you. Because of you I have the courage to make this giant leap into the next adventure. I will carry your hearts. I will carry them in my heart. Always and forever, with gratitude and love.

Thank you. I love you.

How to Thrive

I recently ended a year-and-a-half relationship. It's okay; it was necessary and a positive step. Even so, it's cause to reflect on my past relationships and what I've learned about why each happened and/or ended. There is one glaring variable in each and that is how much I have changed.

When I was first divorced, with a three-year-old daughter, I was afraid to be around other people. Specifically married people who had supposedly "gotten it right." I felt as if I just stood out, like there was a neon sign designating me as the failure in the room. I wanted so badly to have that again, to fit in with the "normal" parents. Now I find myself looking at these people and wondering if they're really happy, assuming most of the time they aren't. Marriage is hard.

I then went through a very difficult relationship that never gave me what I wanted. In trying to get what I wanted I bent, I twisted, I did everything I could think of to contort myself into what would make it work. Because I was Relationship Girl and I was damned if I wasn't going to make it work. I never got what I wanted and, instead, I lost myself in the process.

In the years after that relationship ended, I worked at finding myself again. Discovering what I liked. What I wanted from my life and who I wanted to be. I chose my friends carefully, surrounding myself with people who offered me the missing pieces of me. My security. My passions. My confidence. My humor. Self-sufficiency. Self-acceptance.

While discussing this most recent relationship with my hairdresser, I suddenly realized that I don't thrive in relationships. I thrive when I'm on my own. I've gained more out of my life in the times I've been "alone" than in any relationship I've ever been in. I thrive.

I shared this thought with a friend who expounded on it, saying that as women we focus on our partners, building them up until we, ourselves, are crushed. We fall behind in the shadows and expend all of our energy making sure the man in our life has what he needs to be secure. We lose track of what we need.

In each relationship of mine there has been an imbalance. Whether that imbalance was rooted in intelligence, a lack of mutual feelings, family backgrounds, or life stages, I feel like that is the core of why they didn't last. What I need is equality. Maybe equality will allow me the ability to thrive.

And, maybe, there is the possibility that I'm just not meant to be in a relationship. At this point in my life I value my independence over the many compromises that are required to be a successful partner. I've worked hard to be me and I'm not willing to just trade that away for the "security" offered in a relationship.

Maybe. I don't have the answers yet. I'm getting closer. What I know right now is that I have love in my life. I have a beautiful daughter who still needs me, even if for just a little while longer. I have love from friends who offer support, encouragement, and plenty of laughter. I have dogs who love me no matter what I'm going through and are happiest snuggling next to me. I have passions and interests and new adventures yet to be discovered.

These are the things that help me to thrive. I prefer thriving over wilting.

.

A Birthday Love Letter

The wife, as I like to call her because she’s my bff but that term is really overused plus she does things only a spouse should have to do like go to my kid’s choir and ballet performances, is celebrating her birthday today. I’m glad that it’s sunny because the weather can really suck ass this time of year but also because she deserves a really sunny day. She also deserves more than the stupid gift I got her but what gift can you buy that says “I love you more than you’ll ever know for a billion million reasons because you’re like Christmas and summer and chocolate cupcakes all rolled into one”?

We met three and a half years ago. I was freshly heartbroken after the end of a long-term relationship and trying to make the most of it by throwing myself a housewarming party. A new acquaintance brought The Wife along because she was also freshly dumped as well as newly unemployed and needed some cheering up. I would have expected someone in that position to be a puddle on the floor, especially knowing that in my state the only thing holding me together most days was copious amounts of vodka. She, however, seemed to be doing well. Not that she was resentment-free, but she was still funny in a dry and sarcastic way. My favorite kind. I liked her immediately.

Our friendship built slowly. I liked her more every time we got together. She, on the other hand, recently told me that she didn’t see us becoming close at the beginning. Not because she didn’t like me, because, well, duh. But because she thought we were so different.

In some ways we are different. She likes to snowboard and I hate anything having to do with snow or getting hurt. I am definitely the girlier, wimpier one. She owns a lizard which kinda freaks me out. She is teenager-free. I’m usually the organized one, the plan-maker. I own more shoes than she does and I’m afraid to admit that I’m the fussy one. None of these differences matter. If anything, they work to compliment the ways in which we’re alike.

We both like pajamas more than jeans, animals more than most people, and cheese more than other so-called food. Like most women, we constantly complain about our bodies and alternate between motivating and sabotaging each other. We’re separately stronger than we think but together probably unstoppable. Each of has so much distance in our families, of varying kinds, that we’ve chosen the other as family. And yet I’d never call her my sister because she’s less and more and something completely different.

What kind of friend is she? She’s the kind of friend that just does, no questions asked. She’s taken care of my sick dog when I was out of town and crying on the phone. As far as crying goes, she’s listened to and seen me cry more times than I care to tell you. She’s watched me make the same mistakes over and over with guidance and love, never making me feel like more of an idiot than I already knew I was. She’s showered me off after I’ve had the misfortune of puking on myself and taken me to the doctor when I had vertigo so badly I couldn’t dress myself. When someone says that a friend is there for them, her friendship is the standard by which I measure that effort.

I think the nicest compliment I ever received about us was from a friend who said that The Wife and I take better care of each other than anyone she’s ever known. I know she takes exemplary care of me and I only hope that I come close to that for her. She is a major reason I made it through the last year relatively unscathed.

So, here’s to my wifey on her birthday. My friend, I love you more than I can tell you. I don’t know how to form the words that would describe what your friendship means to me or how deeply I treasure the laughter, our utter zaniness, your generosity, acceptance, and understanding. I cherish your friendship as no other and I look forward to our future adventures, mishaps, and shared memories.

I simply adore you and love you. Thank you for being my friend.
Happy Birthday.