What's Love Got to Do with It?


I wish it weren't such a weighty word.  Because I find myself wanting to say it.  To tell him I love him.  And not in a let's be together forever and have lots of sex and babies kind of way (which family is a quote from a movie-chill out).

No.  The love I have for him has nothing to do with our could be or maybe not future.  It's like the love I have for the sun when it tickles my skin while pulling weeds at the farm.  Or the delight I experience when a fresh strawberry bursts open on my tongue.  Or the wonderful cracking open I feel each time I come to my yoga mat.

It is a love that just is.  Because he is a good.  And pure.  And wonderful man.  And I appreciate the time he devotes to me.  The things he says.  How he lives his life.  What he does.  Who he is.  And just as I want the sun to know I love its rays, the food I eat that I appreciate its nourishment, the practice I have that I honor its transformative power.  I want him to know those things too.

To know that I recognize him.  That I see him.  And that he is delightful.

But it's only been several weeks.  And he is there and I am here.  And love is a weighty word.  One that wields much power.  Can cause fear and constriction.  Turning away.

And I don't want the sun he's brought into my life to stop shinning.  I don't want the delight and brilliance and transformation to fade.  And I'm afraid that if I let those words loose they will shift things.

Create expectations.  Rules.  Boundaries.  Where none are now.  Where at this point I'm not even sure any should be or ever will be.

Because saying I love you is not like picking which movie you want to watch.

It is real.  And important.  And if you take it back it hurts.

So I keep the words in my mouth when we speak.

Then I remember that video about the horse.  And I realize that really, because we are mirrors for each other, the love I have.  The love that wants to rush out and spill onto him.  It's about me.  It's mine.

All he's done is reflected the deep delight and joy and love I have for myself.  The recognition and sight I at last have found for me.

Not for my life.  Or my place.  Or for what I do and think and feel.  But for who I am.

For the good and pure and wonderful woman I finally see myself to be.

And that.  That kind of mirroring.  That brillance.  And delight.  And knowing is so much bigger than he is.  Than I am.  Than our could be or maybe not future is.

Which makes the words suddenly seem small and unimportant.  Because the gift he's given me is one I'll always carry with me.  One that will color all I do.

So I don't have to say it.  He'll see it.  You all will.  Because now I do.


Warning the first 40 seconds of this video are terrible but the cover is worth it so just tough out the beginning.

Another Life on Another Shore

Shortly after Brian broke up with me the studio officially went up for sale.  An opportunity I would have unhaltingly and without reservation said, "Yes!" to before April.  As it was something Brian and I often talked about.  Me buying the studio.  Us moving in together.

But it wasn't before April.  It was now (or rather then-two months ago).  And while at first it seemed like a golden opportunity delivered on a golden tray sprinkled with golden dust that I'd be a fool to turn down.  I mean hadn't I always wanted to own my own business?  And doesn't it even have space for a counseling office?  Something about it clammed my lips.  And it wasn't just the change in my relationship status.  There was something deeper that prevented me from emphatically saying, "Yes!"

But I couldn't quite put my finger on it.  Nor could I figure out whether or not the feeling was legitimate or just silly I'm not good enough fear.  So I decided to put off the decision (hence my cryptic post).  To sit with it awhile.  Try on what owning the studio would feel like.  Consult trusted friends, advisors, and mentors.  Run off to study meditation.  Remain open.  Instead of just jumping right in like I've previously done.

Which has been hard.

I like plans and rules and checklists.  I like knowing what's next.  And I thought I did.  Stay here.  Keep doing what I'm doing.  Move in with Brian.  Make it work.

But all that got pulled out from under me and (at times) I felt like I had capsized and was drowning.  Relationship-done. Place where I live and work-done and done.  I no longer had a direction to row.

Then slowly I started to tread water.  Rafts, life preserves, and hands were lent to me.  Prayers, cups of coffee, midnight conversations, and great acts of kindness were shown.  This strengthened me so I was able to grab ahold of the boat.  So I could eventually haul myself back aboard and start paddling.

The only problem is I haven't known where to.  So instead of forward progress I've mostly just aimlessly smacked my oars on the water.

Sure I could buy the studio.  I could be good at it.  I could make it work.  Smack.  Smack. Smack.

But as my beloved teacher said, "It's not about making it work it's about being in the flow."

And I realized today, as I was driving back from a meditation workshop, here is not where I flow.  It's too hard to paddle.  My oars just won't catch.  Sure this place has been good to me (for me) but it's also been a struggle.  Continues to be in some ways and feels like it always will be in others.  And I can't just keep sitting here rowing around in circles.  I gotta get on with things.  Go somewhere.  Find some calmer waters.

So as much as it pains me to admit this (because I know I'm going to be letting a whole host of people down) I'm not landing here.  I'm not buying the studio.  And I'm not staying.

I'm still not exactly sure where I'll drop anchor (Or is it land this plane?  I forget which metaphor I'm using).  Regardless, it's time I put up my sails and look for some wind because I'm tired of beating my knuckles together.  Here is just too hard.  And staying I'm afraid means constantly being knocked out of my boat and having to scramble back in again because there's nothing left for me here.  I've learned what I needed.  There's no where else for me to go here.

I'm so sorry to everyone who wanted me to stay.  Who wanted me to buy the studio and put down roots.  Part of me really wishes I could and I'm so sad I can't.

But it's not what I'm meant to do.

Driggs is not my port of call.  My final destination.

I still have miles to go (and I'm fairly certain they're in the easterly direction).

So much love and thanks to everyone here and there.  To the people who've helped me back in the boat and paddled it when I couldn't.  And mostly to those who really believed in me.  Who thought I could buy, and own, and run, and manage, and teach here.  Your encouragement buoyed me in ways you'll never know.

I'm forever grateful to you all.


What It Means to be a Real Woman

"The quickest way to emasculate a man is to tell him what to do."

I felt like calling all my ex-boyfriends and apologizing.  Because as the former Valedictorian of Everything I've told most all the men I've dated they're doing it wrong, offered very pointed do it this way suggestions, taken over, and not respected their thoughts.  Whether that be from what we were having for dinner tonight to stop it I'll just fix the stove because I can do it better.

Which now, after three days of Mastin Kipp's Love Uni-versity: Love and Relationship Bootcamp, I realize is horribly unattractive and totally disrespectful and not at all going to land me my Prince (a word that sort of makes me throw up in my mouth a little but one Mastin uses to describe the sort of man one should pursue-as a opposed to a knight who's off having adventures and slaying dragons and shacking up with fair maidens and not at all interested in building a kingdom with you).

So to all the men I've told to drive a different direction, or take me to another restaurant, or no stop-do it this way, or most recently for the love of god get over yourself and just talk to me already Brian White, I am humbly and most apologetically sorry.  I've been terrible.  I've not presented you with the opportunity to show up in your own way.  I've demanded you do it on my terms.  I've been hard and focused and driven.  In other words-I've been a total dick (and yes I just wrote the word dick on a blog my family reads.  It will be fine just breathe. Also sorry family!).  And while that may be my job in my professional life, it's not in my personal and I'm sorry I've done that to you.

What I should have done is be a vagina (something a dear teacher once recommended to a good friend which totally made me giggle).  Because be more like a vagina?  WTF?

But I get it now.  As a woman I'm made to be soft, open, receptive, watery, flowing in my relationships.  I'm called to, "respect my chosen man and his thoughts, suggestions, ideas, and plans EVEN WHEN I know I'm smarter and can do it better."

Yeah read that again.  EVEN WHEN I know I'm smarter and can do it better.  Talk about punching my inner Valedictorian right in the gut.  Are you crazy?  Even when I know I can do it better?

But I've come to realize that's what it takes to make relationships work.  Both parties can't be hard and driven.  Someone's gotta bite their tongue every once in awhile.

And when you can do that.  When you can present the problem but not the solution.  When you can remain open and let a man show up in his own way and time without telling him exactly how, when, where, and why he should fix the sink that particular way you'll get a partner who can, "cherish his chosen women's feelings even when she's being irrational, irritating, and totally illogical."

Which let's face it happens a lot, at least around here.

So I think the trade off's worth it.  And I'm adding it to my list.  Practicing being open not directive.  Because does it really matter which road we take to get there in the end?

No.  It just matters that I accept whatever shows up, whenever it does, in its own way.  Because that's my job as a real, powerful woman.

And it's also what I want done for me.  To be loved just the way I am.


Of course the day after that course started this was on Elephant Journal because you know God likes to beat me over the head with the lessons I'm supposed to learn...

A Call to the Divine Feminine: Ten Bold Invitations from the Sacred Masculine

All At Once After Awhile

The one thing that Ms. Elizabeth Gilbert fails to mention in her book is that after your wonderful ceremony atop the sliding board where you make peace with your ghosts and find God you eventually have to climb down and get on with living your life.  And while it was all peace, and bliss, and contentment atop the sliding board real life is a bit messier.

Real life finds you sitting across from one of his dear friends having coffee, driving past his house twice a day for the next while because of course the house you're staying in is in his neighborhood (where else in the whole freaking county could it be?), exchanging emails about him, passing him on the road.  And a whole host of other things that bring him right up instead of leaving him off in the distance where you threw him.

And even though you know.  Mentally understand that it's over and he's seeing someone else.  And that your own life is turning out quite amazing really.  Sometimes it takes awhile for your heart to catch up with that.  For your body to release the pattern.

So you find yourself speed dialing one of your best girlfriends demanding she tell you to "Stop! Turn the car around right now.  Don't you show up on his doorstep."  Or crying after yoga because my god this sucks so much how could he possibly already be in a relationship with someone else?  Or furious because he refuses to acknowledge your very vulnerable email.

Then other times you find yourself smiling so much it hurts, dancing wildly around your house, so full of love and joy your head might just rocket right off because you've reconnected with a really great man.  A man who pursues you.  And says and does the most wonderful things.  And you're running a 5k, and going to study with Paul, and have some pretty rockin' plans with some amazing women.  And your life is so full and rich.

And then it's not.  And then it is.  All at once.

Because things aren't simple.  Because you can't really throw anyone off into the distance.  You carry your experiences with you.  Your memories and love and tears.  All of it is part of you.  And being authentic and real and vulnerable is not easy.  It's a constant dance between those things.  Around them.  

And you do the best you can to be present for all of it.  To say in one breath I do miss him.  Followed with but there's also so much good.  Because that's your truth right now.  And that's ok.

Because you know that if you throw time.  And goodness.  And compassion at it.  At yourself.  One day your stomach won't drop at the sound of his name or the sight of his house.

But that can only happen if you let all the feelings come.  If you acknowledge them, feel them, and let them pass (without doing crazy reactionary things like showing up on his doorstep and making him a part of it).  If you savor the good things.  If you continue to put one foot in front of the other.  One smile on top of the next.  Remaining curious about what's next and where you're going to live and who you're going to love.

Because that's the only way the light you let in can grow.  If you feed it openness.  Truth.  Authenticity.  Vulnerability.

So here I am saying I miss him and I don't.  That my life is fantastic AND hard.  That, "I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes."  And that there's room for all of it.  Which is actually pretty wonderful when you think about it.