Sliding doors

As I was driving home from my boyfriend's place tonight, I got to thinking how much my life feels a bit like the movie "Sliding Doors" the last two months....except instead of seeing two alternate realities of life based on choices made or not made, my alternate realities exist because of life circumstances that happened within close proximity to another. One amazing door opened shortly before another heartbreaking, tragic door closed.

I met my future boyfriend on October 23, 2012 and the best most loving friend I've ever had in my 35 years on this planet died November 19, 2012. As you may imagine, this turned my world completely upside down. I thought, "What the hell, universe? How could you open such an exciting door of possibility at the same time you took away the one person who often knew me and loved me better than I knew and loved myself?" This made absolutely no sense and totally fucked with my head, more so my heart. I felt angry. I felt confused. I felt guilty for focusing so much on this new man in my life and more so for being happy in his presence when I *should* have been in mourning 24/7 after Rajiv's death (or so that critical side of me told myself).

Two months later and it still feels weird, though I'm not going through extreme emotions anymore. Now I just find myself thinking of my life experiences and memories in terms of two significant time periods: "Before Dragos" and "After Rajiv." In order to understand the significance of these time periods, I must explain why I see my life via these 'sliding doors.'

Door #1, "Before Dragos" (there was Rajiv)

Anyone who knows me well knows that I have relationship issues (or lack thereof would be more apropos). One would think that most 35 year old women have had a plethora of significant other relationships, including even being married by that age. Not me.There have been men I briefly dated, exciting crushes that fizzled out/went nowhere, and developing feelings for male friends. All of them had two things in common: emotional unavailability and no prospect for long term potential.

Though I met my best friend Rajiv a year or two prior to approaching my 30's, he knew my terrible romantic history all too well. Not only did he know my history well, he had this almost magical power of predicting my romantic future (for good or bad) when I'd give him a snapshot of my experiences with a particular guy I was feeling unsure about at the time during our six and a half years of friendship. He was almost always right, my magic 8 ball best friend. "Outlook not so good." "Most likely." "Don't count on it."

While I usually felt clueless when it came to men romantically, Rajiv grounded me and brought me back to reality. His perspective always helped me in some way, even when he said something I didn't want to hear. In some strange way too, I feel like I got 'practice' to completely be myself with a man....open, honest, and intimately knowing one other (minus the romance/sex aspect). He didn't know it, but he was "preparing" me for an emotional intimacy I would soon also share with Dragos.

Here's where the sliding doors emerge.

Door #2 "After Rajiv" (Taking risks without my magic 8 ball)

It's now been 3 months since Dragos and I started dating, 3 weeks now into the 'in a relationship' stage. Rajiv died before I even had a chance to tell him about Dragos. The first man with whom I'm truly embarking on a new and exciting relationship (and chapter in my life) and the man whom loved me so completely unconditionally for the good, bad, ugly and everything in between....these two will never meet, will never know each other, will never know me through the eyes of the other. I will never get to share with Rajiv all the exciting "firsts" I have experienced or will experience with Dragos....or the various thoughts and feelings I have as the relationship progresses. I'll never have my magic 8 ball to give me the thumbs up or thumbs down on this man, though sometimes in my mind (when I'm spending time with Dragos) I picture Rajiv smiling at me or laughing with me.

Dragos will never know what a gift Rajiv gave me....that of feeling worthy of a caring, intimate relationship and capable of going beyond my comfort zone despite how scary it feels because the rewards far outweigh the perceived costs. Dragos will also never know how little things he says or does at times remind me of Rajiv in a funny or comforting way.

These sliding doors that initially gave me an existential crisis now give me an abundance of opportunities....that of love, meaning, growth, and most especially the confidence to become my own magic 8 ball.

Love you always and forever, Rajiv. "It is decidedly so."

Are you stuck in 'the friend zone?'

I'm trying to remember the first time I heard someone use the term 'friend zone.' I believe it was back in 2007. Interesting twist....the person whom shared with me that he often gets stuck in 'the friend zone' with women also had me feeling as if I was stuck in the friend zone with him....despite the fact that it seemed like we both started off liking each other. Arghhh. Thus began the cycle that perpetuated ambiguity and confusion. What happened? Did I miss something along the way? And is it just me or do you hear people talk about the dreaded friend zone all too frequently nowadays?

How does one get stuck in the friend zone exactly? At what point does a flirtatious or magnetic attraction  become friendship and nothing more? Has the friend zone phenomenon always existed or is our current society responsible for its more frequent rate of prevalence? How much of it has to do with more ambiguous and liberal interactions between two people? Is the friend zone more likely to occur between two people of the opposite sex or is it a phenomenon just as prevalent in the gay community? And what (if any) is the connection between the friend zone and its evil twin 'friends with benefits?'

Unfortunately, I have no answers to these questions (sorry dear readers...I'm notorious for asking more questions than providing answers or solutions). I'm curious to hear what others think about this topic though.

I wonder if we're greedy when it comes to dating, courtship (does that even exist in the 21st century?!), sex, and monogamy vs. "keeping my options open." Or perhaps we become overwhelmed and paralyzed by too many choices. Then there's also the definition of friendship, one fraught with too many gray areas.....which at times can include too little patience for sexual tension and not enough for platonic endurance.

It can be easier to get stuck in the friend zone if you are interested in Person A, but there's also Person B, C, and D that you may be curious about or attracted to for a whole different host of reasons. You may not know what you want exactly or perhaps you're not confident enough. Or you're afraid to risk revealing the feelings you do have because you don't want it to take away from the strong friendship already in tact. Maybe you're not direct with communicating your thoughts, feelings, or agenda.

If you truly want to explore a more than friends relationship, either you or the other person has to speak up. It is wrong to assume that just because you're stuck in the friend zone (from your own perspective) that the other person wants to be in the friend zone with you. If neither person brings it up, both are to blame. You then must decide to either accept and appreciate the friendship without exploring that Pandora's Box...or the next time around when you find yourself in a similar predicament with another individual: Take a chance at being direct, even if it means falling flat on your face. You may get some scratches and bruises after the fall, but at least you'll pick yourself up off the ground knowing exactly where you stand: zone-free.

Trust: the "faith" of relationships?

There are numerous reasons I could list on why not to trust someone, but I'm more curious to ponder the opposite: What is it that drives one to take the blind leap of faith and choose to trust another human being? Is it dependent upon the relational dynamic? Is it easier or harder to trust an individual vs. a group entity? Are we more likely to trust others with our secrets, feelings, passions? How much trust do we invest when it comes to trusting someone with our life, fidelity, money?

These are questions I've been pondering since I watched the Martin Scorsese movie "Casino" last night. Throughout the movie, I noticed and found it funny that characters repeatedly (and emphatically) made comments about needing to be able to trust one of the other characters....funny because it's a movie that centers around the mob and  there's major underlying deception going on among multiple characters. As much as they can hold their own in certain situations, the ultimate downfall is that the characters chose to trust when it wasn't in their best interest to do so. And the price for trust? Loss of money, loss of mental sanity, loss of love, loss of friendship, loss of life. With so much at stake, why do they trust? Why do any of us trust?

Perhaps trust is to relationships what faith is to religion....belief in something "higher" or better despite the unknown lurking in the shadows. A yearning for connection on an intimate level (whether with a friend, lover, or spouse) overpowers the risk it takes to trust and the consequences that may unfold as a result of that trust. Could it be that we would rather see the humanity in each other than be jaded and completely closed off? Maybe there's hope for humanity after all. Or so I trust.

Organically intimate

Opening up. Letting go. Surrendering. To oneself. The moment. To opportunities for organic intimacy with the self and with friends or lovers. How often do we allow ourselves this in the age of iPhones, iPads, texts, social networking, cyber chats, busy lifestyles and instant gratification? How often do we pick up the phone to share something of depth and meaning with another? Share laughter, spark intellectually stimulating conversation, swap life stories, or otherwise hidden secrets?

We fidget, we resist, we avoid ourselves and each other, we escape into machines and addictions. The humanity that can be found in connecting is fading in the dwindling creative process that takes place when people interact and relate in organic ways....face to face, heart to heart, verbal conversations, eye contact, touch, body language, expression of visceral uncensored emotion, vulnerability (being emotionally "naked," open, honest, and transparent with nothing to hide behind/from).

I could be in the minority that finds these experiences few and far between, but I highly doubt it. Having recently experienced a significant number of these experiences more than the usual (ie, rare), I got to thinking how much different I feel with them vs. without them. Connected. Alive. Joyful. Hopeful. Seen, wanted, desired, understood, known. Real experiences evoke real emotion. Virtual is an illusion that numbs and leaves one extremely wanting. It's no wonder why we as an American society are more depressed, disconnected, empty, unhealthy (physically and emotionally), and overly medicated now more than ever. But it doesn't have to be that way.

It will likely feel very uncomfortable to relax and completely surrender to your physical environment when you've been tethered to the ease of virtual living for so long. But you will feel alive. Earlier this week I had one (of many) such moments. I've recently discovered a new interest and appreciation for relaxation yoga and meditation, something that never struck my fancy until I was at my wit's end with a painful rib injury that left me desperate to try just about anything to heal that much quicker. Sadly, this was my only motivation for going. I'm oddly grateful for that injury though because it gave me the priceless gift of yoga. It's done wonders for my soul. I'm able to relax and let go completely, which speaks volumes since I can rarely turn myself completely to "off" mode. Since I've been practicing this yoga once a week, it's becoming a little more natural and likely I can do so when I'm not in the class.

Then there's meditation. I've never been one to meditate. I never thought I could do it the "right" way, even thought it to be boring, futile, and even a little pretentious. The other night, however, proved me wrong. Within minutes of being asked to think about and visualize those in my life who have been my greatest teachers, mentors, and loving supporters....my eyes (which were shut) filled with tears as I found myself surprisingly overcome with emotion, triggered by memories of people dear to my heart. I was filled with such joy to be reminded of this love and gratitude that could have gone unnoticed otherwise.

As I have been challenging myself, I challenge you to seek out opportunities to live in the organic....that which kindles intimacy and self-discovery, sparks genuine self-expression.

Real is slow, organic, random, messy, risky, at times even ecstacy. A puzzle to be put together. Layers of an onion to be peeled. A gift to be unwrapped and savored.

Sexuality/memoir book recommendation

It can be challenging enough to write about the taboo subject of those who engage in the BDSM and swinger lifestyle, let alone write about it from a perspective of self-discovery and intimate honesty. Suzy Spencer blends and balances the two perfectly in "Secret Sex Lives: A Year on the Fringes of American Sexuality." In between the voyeuristic sharing of her interviews, correspondence, and in person interactions with her subjects, Suzy also courageously explores her own sexuality with curious wonder.

What I most respected and loved about this book wasn't what was said, but how she said it. Not once did I feel the writing was contrived, patronizing, condemning, or even glorifying....which I imagine is difficult not to do when writing about taboo sexual practices. Suzy did not always agree with her subjects, nor could she oftentimes relate to their practices...but she always respected them and she turned something that could be construed as stereotypically "dark" and "dirty" into a very humanistic desire: Finding that sexual spark or passion that exists deep within human beings, yearning to be ignited....to be authentically wanted, seen, and known.

The Unknown

Why does the 'unknown' possibilities of future life experience tend to primarily hold a weight of such fear and anxiety for people? Why does one tend to jump to the conclusion that something will be horrible, a failure, humiliating, or that one somehow won't 'rise to the challenge?' Such a mentality leads to a self-fulfilling prophecy. If one never ventures outside of the known, how will one ever truly and intimately know oneself...or the world?

Knowledge can be attained through external and contrived means, while wisdom occurs through integrating both personal experience and intellect on a deeper level. Knowledge may be easier to acquire because it requires less choice; it's more of a one-sided event. It's like doing a research paper. You look up information from various scholarly articles, books, and professional forums. You take notes of what other people say about the subject and put it all together to hopefully form a cogent paper. After the paper has been completed, however, how much of it becomes "part" of you? For me, this is the difference between knowledge and wisdom. A paper full of knowledge is not something I will remember or deeply resonate with in the long-term. Wisdom is different; it has no shelf-life in the recesses of my mind. All else may be taken away from me, but I will always have the wisdom that has meaningfully accrued over the span of my life experiences. As I reflect on those experiences that have provided me the richest wisdom, I can attest it has usually been the result of those 'unknown' moments I chose to embrace rather than hide, flee, or freeze.

Embracing juicy risks in lieu of the comfort of familiarity or status quo....this is what I seek and live for. Don't get me wrong. I would be lying if I said I have no anxiety or that my worst enemy can be my own imagination....I just choose to do something in spite of that part of my mind that freaks out. I recall the many times I have been able to 'hold my own' and know that whatever happens, will either be great or perhaps just an opportunity to learn something intimate about myself that wasn't brought to awareness before. I know you're waiting for an example (or maybe not, but I'm going to give you one anyway) to apply what I describe, so here's an experience I had that led up to writing about my reflections today.....

I had been talking with a friend of mine here in Seattle about my curiosity to go to the annual Seattle Erotic Art Festival (SEAF) a few months ago. As she has lived in Seattle for about 7-8 years now and boldly embraces the erotic arts (ie, she occasionally teaches strip/pole dance classes), she has been attending SEAF regularly since she moved to Seattle. I knew if there was anyone I would want to have this 'unknown' experience with, I would want it to be her. The funny, ironic thing is I haven't even known her that long.....but there's something about her I truly admire and find incredibly refreshing. She is confident and comfortable in her own skin. Her confidence oozes and radiates toward others around her. Some people find this intimidating; I find it welcoming! So when I asked her if I could join her and her fiancee at SEAF, I was happy she said yes.

It wasn't until the morning of the event that I started to get a bit nervous. We were talking on the phone, making plans for what time to meet at the Seattle Center Exhibition Hall.

She told me it was a black tie event and everyone was going to be dressed up, adding that people could be wearing anything from formal wear to fetish attire.

"Last year there was someone wearing a pony costume," she joked. We excitedly agreed on how much people watching there was to be had. My only concern was what to wear, given the nature of the event.

Funny enough, in the everyday world one may tend to be concerned with wearing something that will look too racy or provoke too much attention. In this instance, I was concerned of the opposite. I wondered if I needed to wear an outfit that would fit the aforementioned qualities. My conundrum was not wanting to wear clothing that would make me stand out in a boring way. I searched the depths of my drawers for something remotely sexy that I could safely wear outside of my bedroom, crossing my fingers I still had that pair of red fishnet stockings I bought back for my Halloween costume in 2004. Sigh. No such luck. I then got pissed at myself, thinking Why the hell did I ever get rid of those?!?!

Moving on, I was thankful I at least had my hot pink tights to slightly spice up my classy, albeit conservative black blouse and black skirt combo. I resigned myself to the fact I might be the most conservative looking person there. Oh well. Screw it. Isn't the purpose of something like this to emphasize how erotic pretty much anything can be? I rationalized to myself in that moment that it didn't matter what I was wearing, but how I felt about myself. I was feeling beautiful and confident with my body. I was feeling adventurous, my heart beating fast at this bold new experience I was about to embrace. I was also open to seeing anything and everything that might be at this event; it was an adrenaline rush. Off I went.

Greeting my friend and the love of her life, I was immediately taken in by the art gallery feel of the place. I'm not sure what I was expecting, maybe something more explicit and in your face. I was wrong. It was a colorful, classy assortment of erotic art strewn along the walls with unique performance art in between its open spaces. The atmosphere was warm and relaxing to the senses. My friend commented with joyful surprise that she couldn't believe I showed up, as she had invited other people and I was the only one "who had the nerve."

"Really?" I said, taken aback with surprise. Throughout the course of the evening, she proudly introduced me to her friends and acquaintances as the "SEAF virgin." I smiled and chuckled in amusement.

Ever the curious voyeur of human nature, I soaked in the night like a sponge. There was the huge pink couch/chair in the shape of a boob. The professional rope/bondage man demonstrating in his performance art how a couple can intertwine rope between each other in bed (on an actual bed). A fanciful burlesque show with visually stimulating (and at times, period piece specific) costumes. White porcelain Kleenex holders in the shape of a butt with Kleenex coming out of them; that cracked me up. People watching galore. A woman whose fetish was to have onions grated on her nether regions, which some people openly obliged for her (this I couldn't wrap my head around....especially onions, yikes! But, whatever floats your erotic boat!). A room where you could have tasteful photos taken (erotic, not porn), though the photographers seemed less than amateurish. I think I could have done a better job at those photo shoots. When my friend and her fiancee had their picture taken, she told me they were just pointing and shooting with no quality creative goal in mind. Shame on those "photographers," especially for overcharging what mostly turned out to be shoddy photos.

On the other hand, what most impressed me was the erotic photography I saw as I walked by the numerous walls. I only wished the framed photos on the walls were cheaper. I was drawn to a photo of a woman's black shoes laying on the end of a bed. There was something about the way it was shot and the contrast of black and white (though it was a color photo) that caught my eye. Too bad it cost about $300. Though I couldn't afford to purchase it, I wandered into the festival's store and did find another photo I had liked from the photo gallery...this one more within my price range: a woman with red hair across her face (in mid motion as she had turned her head to the left) wearing what I can best describe as a black skin tight outfit covering her torso. There are small holes all over the black shirt, very subtly exposing the woman's breasts and nipples. It looks like something you would see in a fashion magazine. Hot, yet classy. I bought my very first erotic (and professional) photograph that night!

As the evening progressed, I talked with my friend and pointed out specific pieces of art that really resonated with me. I couldn't help but happily smile as she remarked with an impressed tone of voice how much she's learning about/seeing a different side of me.

When we tend to judge a book by its cover, we lose the possibility of being able to see others (and ourselves) in the various (and sometimes intimate) contexts of experience. I'm glad I haven't lost this ability to surprise myself, and other people. Now that's wisdom and excitement I can hold onto for years to come. No pun intended.

Lonely and Alone

My mom and I arrived in Chicago one late night in December 2001, a few days shy of my 24th birthday. I was struck by the lights that shimmered from the high rise buildings as we rounded the bend of Lakeshore Drive towards the Belmont Ave exit. Bitter cold, one's breath was visible with even the most minute exhale. After deciding on a studio apartment at 432 W. Belmont, we quickly unloaded my meager belongings. Mom helped with the process of unpacking and making apartment 304 resemble that of a cozy "home." We crossed things off our to-do list as we hopped on and off Chicago's buses and trains, which was a totally new experience for both of us. I remember being worried that if we didn't step on and off of the "el" platform quickly enough, the automatic doors would close in on us. I had never been on a subway train before.

On my birthday, Mom and I laughed about the drama that ensued between a cab driver and passenger as we ordered our popcorn before "Vanilla Sky." Bundled up in our coats, hats, scarves, and gloves, we sought refuge in my apartment and the heat that steamed from the old metallic radiator underneath my window.

Christmas was strange that year because it was just the two of us, but mom didn't want me to be alone. Neither did I. A big part of me wondered how I was going to manage this whole 'alone in the big city' venture I had boldly decided to undertake, as I was afraid to be alone. What if someone breaks into my apartment or robs me on the street? What if I get lost and end up in a bad neighborhood of the city? What if no one wants to talk to me or get to know me? I'm all by myself. What will I do? These were the anxious thoughts that ran through my mind. Yet when I waved goodbye to my mother as she stepped onto a bus the day after Christmas, I thought about times I have been alone.

I am the only product of what came of my mom and dad's marriage. My parents divorced before I could even form a memory of having seen them together. I have no recollection of them as a couple. It has always been Mom or Dad, not Mom AND Dad. As young as seven years old, I had boarded more Delta, American, Southwest and Northwest airlines by myself than any other kid I knew. Traveling from the northeast to hot and humid Tampa, Florida every summer, I would gaze out the window, read a book during flights, and chat with friendly neighbors on the plane. I impatiently awaited the long, dreadful layovers in big cities like Atlanta and New York City, but being served peanuts in a shiny airline package more than made up for it.

Bouncing from Chesapeake, Virginia to Panama City, Florida, to Kingwood, Texas over the span of four years, I had become almost a natural at the role of "the new kid in town." What if I get lost in the halls of the cavernous school? What if my classmates think I'm weird or not cool enough? What if I don't make any friends? What if I miss the bus?

I remember frequently feeling like I was always alone, even when I was surrounded by other people (including family). Sometimes I would stare out the second floor bedroom window of our home in Kingwood with tears welling up in my eyes, wondering when I wouldn't feel so alone anymore. .....Or was it lonely?

Perhaps what I was really afraid of that first night all by myself in the Windy City was not of being alone, but of being lonely. I had spent a majority of my childhood feeling lonely, but my twenty-four year old adventurous spirit was allowing me a powerful opportunity: I could be a strong, independent adult, alone without being lonely.

There's lonely and then there's alone. Chicago taught me there is a difference between the two.