Romantic Hero

Sometimes when I watch a romantic-comedy, I wonder how I managed to miss my hilarious and sexy male counter-part. I think my life could easily be written into one of these films, the only plot point I’m missing is the guy. I need a love interest if I’m going to manage to live in my own romantic comedy. I wonder to myself, and occasionally to anyone who is with-in earshot, where I missed my guy. Which time was it that I left the house and I locked eyes with a handsome stranger that I managed to miss my moment? Of course these things happens every time I leave the house, if they didn’t why would I bother to go outside?

I suppose it is possible that I missed him during my world travels. I have spent a good amount of time traveling, so this must be the answer. Perhaps he was waiting in Ireland when my family decided that we should all go to the Mediterranean for my senior trip. It might have been the boy on that cruise who I was determined to talk out of becoming a Priest. Last I heard from him, he still hadn’t taken vows or gotten married. So what if we didn’t really have anything in common, movies and books have taught me that all we need is some minor attraction. Well, maybe not.

I suppose it could have been Steven. We met on a cruise to the Baltic when I was 15. He had dark hair and light eyes, and of course an adorable British accent. We stayed friends for four years after we met, and he even came to visit me in Paris (on the trip where I obviously missed my Irish husband.) His gothic attire made my family nervous and uncomfortable, and then he missed his train home. My mom wouldn’t let him crash on my hotel room floor, nor would she let me take him back to Paris Nord—Paris is too dangerous for a 17-year-old girl. If my birthday had been a few months earlier they might have considered it, but as it was I had to leave him to find his way back without knowledge of the city or the French language. A year or so later he came to visit the States, and my mom wouldn’t help me go visit him. Now I understand that I didn’t have the money on my own to travel to Arizona, and I did have school, but it is hard to make a romance work if one party is willing to travel to another country while the other won’t travel across their own—even if it’s three times the distance. Steven didn’t speak to me again after that, and while I can’t blame him, it does reduce the chances of him being my romantic hero.

I guess it could have been my attractive waiter Zoltan on the cruise where I met Steven, but I leave him to Cosima. Perhaps it was the really attractive French waiter from my last trip to Paris. His name was Quinton and he worked at a bar called La Pirat, Adrienne—my favorite travel buddy, and I spent every night for a week in that bar, just to look at him. Adrienne was engaged, and although I too would soon be engaged I didn’t know it at the time and I was free to weigh my options. At the end of the week I secured Quinton’s email address, and he made me promise that I would write. I put it into my travel bag and lost it for two years. I now keep it with my camera. I wonder if I wrote now if he would remember me.

Could it have been the Canadian who lives and works in Paris? He was a good dancer. Or maybe the kid from Belgium who went to graduate school in Miami, he was definitely cute. Perhaps it was the kid I met when I was 14 on a cruise in the Caribbean. He was from Norway and really into the Norwegian version of the band Insane Clown Posse. I would really rather think that fate has better things in store from my romantic life than a kid who would put on clown make-up and pretend to be an evil juggalo, but a person never can tell.

I suppose it could even be the boy whose name may have been Ryan, and was from Berkeley, California. He was dorky cute and he did own the first penis I ever touched. Of course, I was young and had no idea what to do with it. I more or less spent our time hidden under the stairs inspecting it and trying to figure out how to make it work. This scene, I think, takes away from the romance and either leaves it as truly comic, or horribly tragic. And although my eyes did get teary as we parted for the last time on the ship, I never bothered to try to keep in touch with him. Though I did write with my two other friends from that year.

The truth is that it is probably just some guy I bumped with my pool cue during a match, said ‘Pardon’ to squeezing through people on the train, or reached past to grab a carton of eggs. Some guy I never thought to look at, much less hope they might hold some type of importance in my life. Just some stranger I didn’t notice, who has no reason to stop and take notice of me from anything other than my rudeness. Sometimes, I believe that we don’t have grand romances in our lives not because we don’t want them, but because we are too busy to stop and notice if one were to happen. While this is actually a comforting thought, I don’t think that we could change to break the cycle. I know I couldn’t. The more I look for grand moments, the less likely I am to notice them when they happen.

The moment doesn’t make it the right person, any more than the car they drive does. A beautiful sunset in Istanbul, wrapped in the arms of a goofy 18-year-old who wants to be a priest, does not make the goofy kid the right kid. Nor does the forgotten promise to write, a kiss to make you melt at sunrise, or the first penis. Of course these are the moments we all want, and the truth is that they are all meaningful. These moments stay with us. They shape what we look for and add to our own perfection. Everything from the awkward recognition of a friend unseen for two years, in Paris Nord—the awkward reunion of the perfect sexual companion, after 8 months apart, in your driveway. They give us comfort—make us feel as if for one moment that Hollywood isn’t lying to us.

These are the moments that songs are written for. They are why we have so many romance novelists. The strange, awkward, accidental moments of our lives. These are the memories that later make us laugh, cry, and most often wonder. Then we pick up our luggage, print out our boarding passes, and head out into the world again—still looking. That is the part I love. And when or if I find my romantic hero… Well, I will probably call him an asshole for bumping into me as I try to take off my shoes for airport security.


Sometimes I wonder

There are some days I wonder why I continue to write. It often feels like a struggle. Then out of nowhere the words come easily. They come from me and onto my computer screen faster than the computer can keep up with the flow. Those are the days that I think we all long for as writers.

It isn’t much different than living with another mental health problem. As a writers we test the definition of insanity as a daily ritual. We do the same thing every day and expect different results. However, sometimes we get them. I know for me it is the difference between a life lived and a life imagined. Now you might wonder how a life of writing is one lived and not imagined. For me writing is life. I give life to my thoughts, fears, passions, pains, and dreams. If I don’t write them then they become stagnant. That isn’t living.

Now a fear isn’t something that we normally want to breathe life into, but I believe that without fear we have nothing to aim to. No goals without the fear of failure. No dreams if we aren’t afraid of living in the same existence we already struggle with each day. My words give me a chance to figure out everything I want from life, and the ability to chase those things or turn away from what I can no longer hold on to.

It doesn’t matter what you write, or if you are writing for anyone else to read or just for yourself. I believe that everyone can benefit from a journal, at the least. It is a place to get out of our heads, or get our heads out of us. If we keep our thoughts bottled up then we build rage and resentment that comes out in unhealthy ways. I am determined to live a more healthy life.

After two days at home sick, missing work that I can’t afford to miss, I have begun to write again. It makes me feel better, even if just for a little while. Otherwise I am just complaining to my friends about how I want to do more with my life and I am leaving my dreams in the corner to take care of themselves, forgetting that to achieve any dream we have to nurture it the same way we do our children.

I have rediscovered my music, my art, and my writing, and through these discoveries I am rediscovering myself. Who I am and where I want to go. I can say how I feel and it doesn’t matter if one day I hate everything, because these words are just a reflection of a moment in my life. My words don’t define me, I define my words, and if my definition changes from one day to the next that is okay.

Now if none of this make sense, that’s fine, I am self admittedly crazy. So this is how I choose to embrace that crazy today. I will write what I feel and I will listen to music that reflects that and I will heal through these actions. Embrace your crazy and grow from it.

Moments of Sanity are Followed by Days of Anxiety

Earlier this week I went to an event called Paint Nite with my co-workers. We went for team building, which worked fairly well. Personalities in the work place are often different when you take the person away from work. People who do not get along while at their jobs, can learn to become friendly when they are able to show their true personalities outside of the office.

While I was rediscovering my love of painting, I also got to learn more about the women I work with. It was a good experience for this week. I have managed to rediscover old passions, and begin to create new positive relationships. This is often a difficult thing for me to do.

While I tend to be a very outgoing person, I do live with anxiety that causes constant fear. People often think that I fake my disease in order to get out of doing things. Today for example, I overslept, which caused and anxiety attack. While I had just had my medication refilled, it did not help in the way which I needed it to, so that I could go to work. This of course upset my boss. So I have spent the day feeling horrible because I couldn’t drive to work. Which in turn has just managed to increase my anxiety. With few ways available to decrease my anxiety, I am now writing and hoping that I will be able to explain how this disorder affects me.

I have difficulty at times, because of my anxieties, performing tasks which most people rarely have difficulty performing. I can’t drive sometimes because of this, and that often leads to me staying in my house all day without even opening the front door to check the mail.

This makes working a regular job extremely difficult sometimes. Uncomfortable conversations, and difficult personalities also increase my anxieties at work. While I can generally push through these problems, I occasionally have an anxiety attack while at work. However, in situations like today, where I woke up having an anxiety attack, it can affect my ability to even make it to work.

I love my job, and my biggest fear at this point is that my mental health will lead to me losing the job. I can’t afford for that to happen, nor do I want to stress about the possibility. However, it is a very real possible outcome. Trying to work outside your home, when you live with a disorder that makes it impossible to simple tasks, is very difficult. Trying to explain to your managers that you are crazy and that sometimes you need people to understand that, is a difficult conversation to have.

I don’t like feeling ashamed of any part of what makes me who I am. In the conversations where you must confess to your boss that you have to take medication so you can function like normal people, and that sometimes it doesn’t work, well the other party tends to have a lack of understanding. I think this is because it feels shameful to tell people these things. Also, when you feel ashamed of something, it makes it much more difficult to express with any accuracy what you need to be able to say.

I don’t like having to use my disorder as an excuse. I hate when it causes me to lose trust, or friends. It’s the worst when it affects my ability to go to work, or preform to my personal standards at work. I don’t ever want my crazy to be the reason I don’t succeed. However sometimes, there is nothing I can do to fix myself and I have to take that day and put it in the lost cause category. I hope that I can find some common ground with my female coworkers, and as I try to take each day at a time; I will be able to gain more control over my anxieties. And that those anxieties can give a greater understanding of mental health to those that I work with.

So today I embrace the crazy, because it got me first. I’m not backing down. I won’t let it win. In my new life this is unacceptable.

It’s Been Awhile

So I just realized this past weekend exactly how long it has been since I have posted.  While I have been distracted by a new job in the past few months, I never meant to stop writing, much less stop posting.  I guess all I can say is that it is easy to get absorbed by life sometimes.  

I have finally start writing again. It was slow going for me this year, at least in terms of my writing.  I plan to post more regularly again.  Now I have in the past said this before, however this time I am finally getting to a comfortable enough place with work and other life that I feel that I can again focus on my passions.

Well, I know this is short, but this is my first attempt at writing a post in almost 5 months.  Keep an eye out for more posts to come.  I have decided that May is officially the month I get back to what I started working on in December.  I am going to try to post regularly as well as just keeping up again with a daily writing schedule.