When the Buddha calls, write him a letter.

  Trading my weekly dip into the inner world for hours of screen time, I'll make up for it by ticking away on the keyboard again. Instead of going to meditation tonight, I spent precious Sunday moments first by watching an it-that-shall-not-be-named Scottish dramedy on Nextflix. Then, I watched "The Power of Ideas," Episode 2 in PBS's The Story of India, which covers shifting political tides during the life of the Buddha and his influence on our world today.

  Tonight I was reminded that the Buddha and his sutras have traveled a long way to our weekly dharma sit in the Unitarian Church in San Francisco. Now, decades after a few east-coast Jewish intellectuals ventured to his homeland, some of whom have become idols themselves in California, I will make my own way to India.

  For the past two summers I traveled to Asia, a place I'd previously discounted as a travel destination. Full disclosure, for Trip #1: I was allured by photos of the amazing beaches in Thailand, and then for Trip #2: I received an unexpected invitation to apply for a teachers' program (Note: I'm not even a teacher). And now, Trip #3, I'm traveling to the land of the Buddha, on purpose. I want to meditate there. I want to trek through mist in the foothills of the Himalayas. I want to roam around India's sacred sites, eat its food and drink its chai.

  Over the past two years my interest and knowledge of Buddhism has grown. I was first introduced to the Buddha's legacy on a 10-day Vipassana course in Thailand (Trip #1, 2013) and made more deeply aware of his cross-cultural influences during a visit to the revered Mogao Caves in China (Trip #2, 2014). Having meditated on and off for over a decade, I decided I wanted to do the full 10-day Vipassana course during my time in Thailand, after the beaches and elephant riding. I was relatively unaware of Buddhist teachings or that the course would focus on Buddhist practice and terminology. I'll spare you the details of my own personal journey during that retreat, but it suffices to say that after the 6th or 7th day (I'm not sure, as time blended), I had a brief and transformative period of blackness, weightlessness, and emptiness that offered a glimpse into the depths of where practice could take me. This crash course, experientially and didactically, prepped me for the ongoing weekly sits at SF Insight, where I had a context for terms like dana, dharma, sutra, dukkah, and panya. Following my return, I began to read about vipassana practice and the suttas and continue to meditate more regularly on my own.

  I am excited and yet trying not to plan too much for the trip, to allow for the joys and tribulations we will undoubtedly face. But before I tread over roots that spread under ancient Indian soil, I'd like to write The Buddha a letter.

 

  Dear Buddha,

  Hello from 2015, where I can watch you on Amazon.com and blog about you in my pajamas. I know you're not into all that apotheosizing crap, but I want to give you a simple thank you. Thank you for being a courageous model for what it looks like to take a deep look at your actions and live in accordance with your values. I embrace this image in hopes of emboldening myself to make my own courageous steps to be kinder and wiser.

  Thank you for your teachings, whatever they were. I find that I let my own curiosity wonder about what YOU really said or really did, even though I think the gist has survived: every living being will suffer, will die, and with our gift of awareness we'll be able to let it wash over us. Your belief in yourself, those around you, and in each of us living after you, to be able to seek our own truth strengthens my resolve to continue to practice.

  I'm not the kind of person who accepts what people tell me. If for some reason you need to verify, I invite you to ask my parents, who have 32 years of evidence. To share one example from my early mediation days, I astonished several fellow retreat-goers when I walked out during the gurupurnima. Even at 22 years old, I felt an aversion to this seemingly fabricated notion of idolatry. Later I discovered, it is believed, that you also rejected this type of senseless worship and instead favored a faith in each of us as our own curious observers.

  Thank you for sustaining this curiosity, for the ambiguity and seemingly contradictory aspects of your teaching. To have faith in each person's ability to access the truth, and yet distance herself from identification with the self; to witness the experience of suffering, and yet avoid passivity in the face of injustice; to avoid attachment and seek enlightenment. I wonder if you ever felt a leaning toward enlightenment or if you'd never considered it until the moment you suddenly experienced it. 

  To be honest, I let my own ego get the best of me more than I'd like to admit, like when I said to myself, "I wonder when I'll be enlightened?" Or better yet, "maybe I already am enlightened or on that path at least." I feel shy to expose my moments of self-inflation. I feel worse thinking of times I've hurt people with my words or thoughts. I even worry that writing this letter is somehow blasphemous. I even preemptively feel embarrassed that I somehow missed the boat, and anyone reading this would think, wow, she really doesn't get it? While I cannot shirk responsibility for any wrong behavior and don't plan on taking up some other precepts by living in monastery, I also cannot wear my own guilt and shame like shackles. I'm human, and I find comfort knowing that once you were, too. When I'm on a meditation cushion, and I make little jokes to myself, conjure up my next travel plans, work out my interpersonal conflicts, or try in vain to keep my left foot from falling asleep, I sometimes crack a little internal smile wondering if you had your own 5th century B.C. version of this. 

  I also wonder amidst all the insights and wisdom you experienced during meditation, how did you turn it into something you could teach? I wonder about what you kept private and why. I wonder if you ever felt good about your progress as a teacher or if you had moments of self-doubt. I question if it's ok to allow myself to feel excited about my growth and insights and even entertain the notion that I'd like to teach someday.

 Throughout my travels, I've seen hundreds, maybe thousands, of images of you, and I like to believe that's not really you, but someone's idea of who they want to revere. I like to think of you as a friend from another era. Like so many others I allow myself to enjoy this image I've created of you: wise, gentle, kind, open, intelligent, and quiet. In the absence of a response from the enlightened afterlife, I will continue to try to observe reality for myself.

  From me to you with love, Elaine

Dark matter

Each December Jesus and I celebrate another birthday, and shortly thereafter, the passing of another Gregorian year. Per usual in the warm sun on the beach in Naples, I sat with my journal on my lap to reflect. I’ll spare you the drama-filled fruits of that labor, and instead share some thoughts I’ve had since. Also, because I managed to skip 2014 entirely, I decided an entry was due to the blogosphere. Tonight I sit in the crowded waiting area of New York’s JFK Airport with my laptop, right here, on my lap. NYC still proves to be a fascinating place that I’m thrilled and terrified by. In a nameless bagel shop the face of the old Jewish man donning a kippah/yamaka clipped onto his almost absent, orange-colored hair reminds me of loneliness. An impassioned sound bite, “…decent to one another…,” from a middle-aged black woman to a much older white woman, touches my heart. I’m reminded of the humor surrounding the inimitable life in NYC from a knowing glance, followed by a half-smile between two strangers on the M86 bus as they remove their fogged glasses, steamed with rain and heat. As an outsider I feel the raw experience of humanity here, and it’s no wonder that it has always been a place of writers, artists, lovers, rich and poor, young and old, stylish and plain. I always feel good to get away, even if each moment may not feel good. When I’m outside of my day-to-day, I tend to dig deeper into my darkness, and sometimes unveil difficult feelings I’ve left unattended. Other times, I am able to unlock a sense of joy that has lain dormant. I always return having changed a little. I may feel renewed after experiencing inspiration or deep rest. I may feel relieved to be back home after a challenging emotional encounter. After this quick trip, I’m feeling edgy and still in need of a break. December felt full and yet uneventful. It was my first birthday that I just let pass. We rode a scooter all around town, visiting the sights of our remarkable city and ate homemade chili in my kitchen. Christmas and New Years came and went with little more than a family meal and a fireworks show. January, however, has descended with a bang. The annual burst of anxiety about the status of my current life choices beckons an oppressive onslaught of rhetorical questions: shouldn’t I be farther along? Happier in my relationships? More at ease with myself? This anxiety is followed a most unwelcome and embarrassing, almost ferocious anger. The intensity swallows up the cordial, easygoing parts of my personality and nudges out any hopes of restful nights. Even new episodes of Downton Abbey aren’t enough to soothe my soul. Visceral shame tugs at my gut. My heart swells with worry. I wonder if maybe I'm just not cut out for this kind of work, or worse, that sustained contentment in a relationship is out of my reach. My mind, however, takes charge, reminding my body to breathe deeply and to remember that it’s only temporary. P.S. On our visit this weekend to the Museum of Natural History we saw the show "Dark Matter" at the Hayden Planetarium, hence the chosen title. Nothing like a little ride through outer space to ground you in the present.

In truth there's trust

When I started to type 'trust', the letters t-r-u-t-h appeared instead. Truth's a powerful word that I usually shy from because it requires such conviction, and if there's anything I'm committed to, it's a dogmatic opposition to committing to much of anything. Conviction, a deep, core belief in something, though, requires a leap of faith. Trust. I've been thinking a lot about trust lately. I usually attach trust to a feeling of dependability between people. I also usually think about it from a vulnerability perspective, where one person worries about being able to depend on someone else. Recently, though, I've begun to think about trust from the trusted person's perspective and begun to realize how true it is that trust is a two-way street. On NPR Andrew Mwenda discussed the potential harm of foreign aid and questioned the enabling nature of these so-called "helping relationships." Money that finds its way to the hands of those waging war against African peoples is controlled by international donors dictating how and when monies are used, communicating a lack of trust in their recipients. As I related his words to my work as a social worker, I hoped to reflect on my experiences with developing mutual trust and also find some comfort. Lately, I've been questioning my ability to really effect any change in the lives of the students with whom I work. Each time I learn more about what other effective educators and social workers are doing, I'm reminded of how I can't teach or can't communicate well enough yet. Conceptually I can comprehend, recognize and describe the effects of current and historical racism in our school, and yet when I see it in front of me, I'm stuck. I don't know how to change what's so penetratingly present and deeply rooted. Each day feels like a missed opportunity. It's as if I can recognize what I'm not doing but lack the trust in mine and the students' abilities to make any difference. I've been here before. The self-doubt and desire to give up, move onto some other job is all too familiar. I usually rely on trying to puff myself up with positive self-talk or seek out additional gratifying feedback from colleagues. Honestly, though, the "you're doing a good job" thoughts only minimally and temporarily motivate me. At this point in my career, I have the theoretical knowledge. I have the clinical skills. Now I need to know what's holding me back. What is preventing me from feeling a deeper connection to my work? What is preventing me from feeling successful and effective and proud of what I'm doing with these students? How can I start harnessing my skills to capitalize on such opportunities to be effective at connecting to students when it matters? Watching crap TV, eating and drinking, and going out with my friends is leaving me feeling empty and avoiding any acknowledgment that this pattern is wearing on me. Instead of going out tonight, I've decided to stay in and give a little attention to what feels more true for me. I've been operating under a false sense that I'm trying to empower students by addressing important topics and being available for counseling. Too many times, though, I shy away from the underlying issues and the actions that would make me mean it when I say to a student, "I believe in you." When I try to protect students from a difficult topic, what I'm communicating is that I don't trust that they can handle it or that I can handle their reactions. When I plow through material, consciously or not, I'm avoiding the silence, not making space for their voices. Here's what I want to communicate instead: "I trust that you have the ability and willingness to execute your own power to determine and achieve your own truth." Saying this with conviction takes a certain amount of faith in the unknown, a future you can't possibly foresee. I understand more now than ever that some of that faith can't be communicated in words. It means taking an extra step, being vulnerable myself, to really deeply learn about the lives I'm afraid to know. It's as if I'm actually seeking to protect myself by avoiding feeling the depth of pain and hopelessness so that I can keep going. To really listen and learn would take a true shift in power. I can redefine my unidirectional approach to empowerment through my actions. I can't be afraid to ask questions, to go to someone's neighborhood, to make myself uncomfortable, to share my feelings openly and respectfully, and to talk about race when it impacts my relationships. To open myself up in this way would move us closer to achieving real mutual trust. Why, then, has it been so difficult to put into practice and felt easier to just walk away? I certainly have wondered more than once if I shouldn't just step aside, let someone else take over, preferably a person of color and even better a mother. I'm not so naive as to believe I'm the one that can save someone. In fact, the opposite is true. I can't save anyone. I can, however, connect to the part of me that trusts in my own ability to be a good listener that truly cares about generating kindness and respect and equal opportunity for all people regardless of any quality they may possess. When I reconnect to my own sense of self-trust, perhaps then I can truly trust those with whom I work. Ironically, for the past few years, I've been preoccupied with earning the students' and staff's trust. I felt constrained by my therapeutic boundaries and resented providers from the community, people of color who overstepped the lines I had to maintain. Without sharing my personal past, I secretly wanted to them to know that I had come from my own pain. If I speak my truth, it's that I wanted them to know that I'm smart enough or well-trained enough or young enough or woman enough to get it. What I missed in focusing on their trust in me, was that I had not stopped judging myself. How can they really trust me if I don't really trust me? Was I looking for belonging from them and then expecting them to feel a sense of belonging with each other? The challenge of facing inequality where I work is fertile ground for my own learning. My work is incredibly humbling. Each day truly is a gift, not a missed opportunity. I really don't want to run away from my job or hide in my own comfortable social circle. My time there doesn't feel finished. To walk away now would have its benefits, but I'm not ready to give up this chance just yet. In truth, there is trust. I have to trust that I can take on what really matters including injustice, not as a theoretical construct, but in its real form. I can take on my own emotional and psychological suffering and that of others without judgment or shame. I have to trust the world enough that I do belong wherever I go and likewise make space for others to belong. According to Brené Brown, we are all hard-wired for struggle, and I have to remind myself that I do not need to protect myself or the students from difficult emotions or topics. I can handle whatever is in front of me, and so can they. For a truly equal social context, we must invest in the development of mutual trust which hinges on mutual vulnerability. Regardless of nationality, political party, religious affiliation, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, physically ability, age, socioeconomic class or whatever other human distinction we all share in our need to feel that we're ok just the way we are. When I listen to emerging self-doubt, I can listen more deeply for the underlying self-conviction. This is not the time for patience or passivity. I can take my own advice I give to students: to seek out people and methods that help me connect to my truth and cultivate a deeper sense of self-trust (i.e. therapy, meditation, journaling, meaningful conversations, etc.) With such understanding on the experiential level, I seek to strengthen my faith in the presence of those same abilities of self-determination in each person I face. I haven't fully answered all of my questions, but I'm not sure that was my goal in raising them. I was, however, seeking comfort and reassurance that I matter in this work and doing so found a little more inspiration to stick with it. For centuries people have postulated about the existence or nature of truth. While I may believe that I can trust that certain things are always going be right and good, most of life remains impermanent and unpredictable. By continuing to ask questions, I strive to stay in touch with my vulnerability and find joy in the mystery. It's just a journey after all.

Back to the Future, really was on TV today (all 3 of them)

I had an inspiring and educational, only barely planned, trip to participate in a leadership/lobbying symposium for school social workers in D.C., to round out my crazy summer adventures, July 17-20. Attending the conference occurred just before hearing on a crappy local news show "if you want a good job, start a good blog" (Note: I have a job I love). I have, however, begun to rethink what this blog could become--a personal, professional trail of crumbs, Hansel and Gretel style, connecting where I was then to where I am now to what comes next.

Discovery of the day, check this out! BoostUp, an organization that works to improve high school graduation rates. I'm wrestling with how to include this in my high school leadership course.

2009: The Year of WTF...

I read a copy of the the NUVO in a quiet corner of Bazbeaux's pizza on Mass Ave. and that is how the article started, "2009 the year of WTF."

Fitting I'd say in so many ways when I think about my 2009. Ahhh, New Years. I have yet to write my annual reflective New Years entry into my journal and for a change jumped first its dearest online cousin, my blogocito.

If I think of NYE last year, I remember getting plastered in a cheesy pub in Soho en Londres. Classy. Followed by a few months in London, a summer in the Big Apple, and a relocation to SF Bay Area, it's safe to say, I feel altogether ambivalent about all of it.

With relapses into sinking sadness usually followed by a seemingly endless supply of uninvited tears, I'm wading through the angst of my, now, late 20s. The holidays and my birthday are usually full of relentless self-love, but this year, 27 was a real stinger. Of course 27 is almost 30 in the scheme of things which triggers thoughts like, "well, shit I should really get in gear and do [this] and [this] and [this] and [this]."

My job is not fulfilling, which I can't seem to tease apart from my two pressing sources of stress: (1) break-up recovery and (2) social worker identity crisis. The former comes in waves and sucks. I'm fine. I watch a platitudinous romantic comedy. I go to delightful happy-couple-infested dinner parties. I have a dream I wished my subconscious would have never invented. I'm NOT fine. Still not interested in the other sex romantically, only currently useful for sheer adoration and humor. The latter, then, deserves more attention, because at least I can control that. (Sort of). I had a great convo con mi querida amiga who described my inner-conflict to be in alignment with the stars. "Astrologically speaking," she starts one of her sentences, my Scorpio rising heightens my level of commitment to a specific task/path (being a social worker) which competes the influences of my Sagitarius moon that resists being tied down to any on thing (wanting to move on, try other avenues within the field or changes fields--education, politics...). Moving into my sun sign, also Sagittarius, I will gradually accept the 'jack of all trades' identity and forgo commitment to any one task/path.

In the past few months I've decided something important, that I don't want to be insignificant. I had a sad and jolting moment one day when I stopped and looked at my reflection in a store window on the way home from work. I thought "I'm so normal." I was just going home from work, just like everybody else.

Which brings me to tonight’s long, hot, candle-lit bubble bath

I have had a lot to think about lately—been writing in my journal and talking about what’s been going on, and now I return to the ever so patient blog of mine. I’m glad that this blog is a small kept secret. I doubt anyone checks it, but I like, for the first time, writing my thoughts more publicly (Writing publicly and liking it are both firsts).

So, I got a job, in a round about way. I was pretty upset that I bombed my second interview, paralyzed by nerves. I was hardly capable of completing my sentences and even made up a word at one point, paused, and then continued as if it didn’t happen. So when I saw that the position was reposted online, three weeks later, I was like, oh right, that confirms it—they’re still looking because I didn’t fit the bill. I was annoyed that I hadn’t gotten a response, nothing to say, “sorry, the position’s been filled.” After seeing the post, I mustered up the courage to call. It turns out, I somehow never got the voicemail message a week earlier, when my now supervisor tried to offer me the position! She thought I was no longer interested, and I thought they had already hired someone. I accepted on the spot, telling her I had had time to think about it, and we were both glad we connected. Sigh. It took a couple of days for it to sink in.

I started on Wednesday, Sept. 30, and have been shadowing and going through training since. Next week will be my first real week. Tuesdays/Thursdays/every other Friday I’ll be at an elementary school in SanFran, Chinatown, and then Mondays/Wednesdays/every other Friday I’ll be working with the district-wide mentoring program. Filling in for someone on maternity leave, I will spend the Wednesdays of October at another elementary school in the Sunset. Phew. It feels like a lot. I’m swamped, not sure where to start, not sure how confident to be, how stressed to be, how relaxed to be, etc. It’s a weird mix of understanding that I AM the professional at the school and wanting to uphold my responsibilities and then on the other hand not wanting to step on anyone’s toes, as I am inserting myself into a system with defined roles and an already established culture. I feel ready to start and have lots of ideas for a mentoring program, service projects, outreach to community centers, etc. I also feel stagnated by not knowing how or where to start, especially since I am walking into a school that just experienced the loss of an important figure in their community. It’s been overwhelming, but I think despite everything, I’m managing ok.

This week I also totally got scammed by this laser hair removal company—I’d “won second prize” in their raffle, and then in a hurry to get to my Spanish class and not wanting to pass up this great deal, I prepaid them $1000+ for services, only to look up their reviews later online finding almost 500 complaints and a possible class action law suit. I felt embarrassed, worried, violated, and stupid. I did express concerns at the time of payment and tried to resolve it with the company. Still unsatisfied I was able to stop payment and cancel my card. Lesson learned.

I’ve finally cut off ties to the person most important in my life for the past two years. It started with many missed phone calls and messages back and forth prompting me to write an email instead. Subject: is there any hope for us because I think there is and I want there to be? Response (6 days later): Can’t say yes, you need to get over me, and you need do it alone. It was more loving than I’m giving it credit, but what followed was wave of denial, sadness, anger, relief (all of that all over again). Moving on from love is not easy, but it is made easier when the other person is not trying at all to assemble the lingering pieces together.

I’ve been reading about relationships and then also trying to keep up with daily news and all my reading for my new job, which means I’m ultimately not reading anything, most of the time. In the wake of the new job, which so far feels like a lot and not exactly fulfilling, I've been feeling the need to just escape. Thus, I’ve been seriously considering the Peace Corps—just to spice things up a bit. It does blend my need for reinvention of myself with my desire to continue learning and exploring with my professional interests in international social work and in wanting to speak Spanish. All of this has made me realize that I’m not ready to settle down, as much as I thought I was. I felt conflicted at all times of my relationship, wanting so much to be a part of his life and be in love, but struggling with really wanting none of it, to just be on my path, alone.

In attempts to make sense of all of this and find a little relief, I’ve started seeing a therapist, and I freaking love it. She laughs at my jokes. She is sincere and not too pushy. I’m already thrilled that I made this decision. By the end of the second session I was already beginning to consider conditions for my happiness in the past: 1) sustaining a sense of freedom from worrying about not meeting the standards I’ve set for myself and 2) having a best friend, male or female. I do want to have the latter, and now would be great. It will likely come in the form of a romantic relationship, eventually—so is the way of things for most of my current coupled friends and so is the pursuit (explicit or not) of my single friends. To cope with my sadness I’ve been constantly wanting to talk, be with people, etc. Until the response email, I wanted people around as much as they could possibly stand me. Since the email, I’ve been much quieter, more solitary, and feeling like I’m in survival mode. I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel like talking. I don’t feel like processing. I don’t have it in me to try anymore. It’s as if I’m holding my breath and waiting for my reaction, or this IS my reaction, a calm, a sense of quietness.

I attended the Teachers for Social Justice conference today and was overcome with inspiration, and confusion. This is what happened two years ago—I went to this conference and was like, “Oh my god, I should be a teacher!” This feeling escalated proportionally to my conflict with the confines of doing therapy in schools. My ambivalence about being a social worker exposed my weaker, vulnerable side to my, at the time, new boyfriend, resulting in his pulling away emotionally and my ultimate break down in December of my final year at Berkeley. Two years later I’m back, ambivalent, and reinvigorated with purpose, without direction. I took copious notes hoping to absorb the skill and passion of today’s speakers. The main theme was transferring from a place of empathy to solidarity with oppressed youth in the classroom. Really though, it means oppressed people. In that sense, social work is a good choice for me. Working at Middle Way, I thought, hey, we’re all in this together. She just happened to be born into a different house with a different life. I don’t see it any other way—I know that this is happening. I can’t not do this work. I get the solidarity piece, but I’m still processing how exactly how today’s events are impacting me and don’t know what actions I’ll take. The challenge has repositioned itself to stare me in the face. The speaker asked, what sacrifice are you willing to make? What I do want to do is what one teacher calls your “revolutionary duty,” aka homework. I heard over and over today, you (or your student) have to start first with yourself—it matters how you live your life. Am I willing to continue educating myself? Yes. The closing address included a discussion of the importance “legitimate suffering,” what makes us human—really feeling and really connecting with others, that should be embraced to avoid neurosis.

This triggered thoughts around my own sadness and healing. Little by little I will and can feel my own suffering. I won’t ever have the experience of healing from the trauma of growing up in poverty in a dangerous neighborhood. My suffering is different, but it emboldens my ability to overcome my ‘stuff’ so that I can help heal the trauma of other people. Today, Jeffrey Duncan-Andrade said, “I don’t think anyone in here is going to the change the world, but I believe the young people we teach will be the ones to change the world.” I have wrestled with how I’m going to change the world, and in the past year have gotten almost wild with expectations of something big and bigger. He also quoted Emilio Zapata, “I’d rather die on my feet than live on my knees.” Rather than inciting some inner-revolutionary, his words gave me a sense of peace. I am not settling for something less when I promote more from someone else. I don’t have to be the one to achieve some great accomplishment, but instead, I can feel a deep, real sense of pride to lead a quiet life that nurtures the voice of others who will be the ones to change the world. I’m feeling more comfortable with this being my legacy and hope that it only complements a pervasive sense of happiness or rather contentment in my life.

For now, I am testing my will to confront the sadness I’m holding by slowly exposing myself to memories. Most of the time, however, I’m filling my time with self-indulgent distraction, from cookies, to movies, to tonight’s long, hot, candle-lit bubble bath.

Because i don't sleep anymore...

I'm not sure what the anticipated time for frequency of blogging is, but it's mine. I guess I'm setting my own rules and assume that there is no blog etiquette, only artist's discretion. I started reading my friend Meredith's blog in Africa which is full of heart, humor, and tender insight. I was never great at writing about my travels on a consistent basis, but apparently I should have been because...well, I'm white (http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/2009/01/11/120-taking-a-year-off/).

My year of travel has ended and I've relocated back to SF/BayArea, namely Oakland, more exactly, Rockridge. My house is a wonderful contrast of big and beautiful, dark and empty, tenanted and lonely. I've spent the better part of the past month sharing beds and couches in my friends' and parents' homes. I have also started my job search and was disappointed to not receive overwhelming enthusiasm with job offers pouring in when performance anxiety left the interview panelists with only mediocre to bad impressions of me. I will get something eventually if I pay attention to what I really want. I think if nothing else, this month will make me better at interviewing.

My greatest obstacle, however, is not my move or my job search, but my broken heart. So, in my last post I mentioned that I was "exploring" my relationship, no name, no detail given. Well, truth is, that has been a significant factor in all that has happened to me in the past 2 years, entangling my life direction and goals with my deep love for another person who was on his own path, managing his own life, and unable or unwilling to share the same feelings. I am lucky to have supportive friends and family, but I forgot how incredibly shaken and life-shattering it feels to be hopelessly desperate for someone to love you. I listen to music and watch movies with utter compassion and bitter disdain. I wake up writhing in tears and twisted stomach pains every night for two hours, never sleeping more than 4 consecutively. I find myself cursing and repeating variations of "why..." questions over and over. My mantra changes from "f* you f* you" to "it will be ok." I'm fine for a day or a couple hours, and I feel like the seas of parted, and then it descends again. It all sounds so dramatic when I write it in my journal, say it out loud to friends. The final axe fell when I left for California, splintering our ties, but leaving a few shreds to continue a little flirting banter and tearful rehashing over the phone from time to time. I regularly comb through memories and months for closure, understanding and ironically windows of hope for a future together.

I realize that love comes with so many soulmates and alter egos (And if you use the Oxford American Thesaurus for 'friend' you will be pleased to find 'homeboy' listed toward the bottom). When considering (or being overtaken by) love, there are so many factors. Where are you in your life metaphysically, emotionally, financially, career-wise, socially, physically, geographically? Where have you been (repeat insertion of categories here)/what's your past? What's your temperament? How willing are you to commit and invest emotionally energy and time into this relationship based on your past and present? How do you define commitment? What do you want right now? What have you wanted before? What are you not willing to compromise and are you compromising it anyway? And, in the end, when you get to the why question, someone I love dearly said to me, "The heart doesn't ask permission."

What I have come up with is that (#1) I am not alone in having this experience of loss/heartbreak; (#2) I am not willing to settle for only half of someone's heart; (#3) I really believe that you can make relationships work and I want to; (#4) I would like to be married (and hope that all people regardless of sex are able to soon--as this feels a little self-serving without others permitted to consider this an option), and finally (#5) if I fall in love, it is worth it to pursue it until I know the other person's not willing to try anymore. If you're keen, you'll notices the overlapping discrepancies here, which leads me to the painful final understanding that I don't want to dignify with a number point: I can't make someone love me if they don't. I know, Bonnie Raitt, beat me to it.

I know there will be someone else out there--people, myself included, love to give this advice. Usually advice is unnecessary and unwanted, but when it comes to feeling lost and alone and anxious, people both love to give it and receive it. Returning to a child development course I took, it reminds me of the experience of a new mother expecting a first baby--everyone's got something to say and she sort of listens to all of it, deciding what fits bests.

A certain someone told me I wasn't romantic, but I'm not sure what romanticism is. If it's giving gifts, making surprises for someone, being spontaneous, I can and have done that. If it's adhering to this notion of finding that one person, of many possibilities, someone who fits your life, who you love despite your differences and irritations, who you are willing to change your life for, pursue and cherish, support and have all of it reciprocated, then ok, I like that too. Really though, I think romantic love is one thing. Romantic Thoreau pond watching is another. I guess, if I can pretend to be ideal and affirm that I believe this in this moment if in none other, to me romance is: Living passionately with your heart open to embrace all that is. This includes romantic love, fiery passion, security in life-long partnership, companionship, connection, humor, intellectual challenge, self-love, identification with nature--the little self and the big Self.

For once, this doesn't end up in my journal but on the w.w.w., still sorting out how I feel about that. My own insecurity and need for humility pushes me to say that I sort of hope no one reads this and if they do and they get it and feel it that they know that it is not for any part of my ego. In fact, the thing about desperate heartache is that it leaves that ego we normally like to hide and protect raw and exposed. My feelings speak for themselves--crying in public, groveling for ways to be loved, yep, dunnit. I don't need a response, even though I do need a hug. I'm not looking for anything besides my own sense of inner peace, and well, as stated, eventually that kind of LOVE with one person that is fulfilling and pure. I think the latter will come as a result of the former.

And so I changed the title of my blog. "Sin un borrador," literally, without an eraser or without a draft. Life continues without a draft, no time to edit. I never write in my journal with a pencil, because if you have an eraser (or a delete button), you use it. I know time will heal and life goes on around me even if it feels like a hard, sad struggle for a bit. I have lots of tomorrows to look forward to and no means for erasing or correcting my yesterdays. I googled Thoreau while writing and found his quote appropriate:'How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.' Ok, time to start my day and those that follow. While I don't yet feel grateful for the pain in my heart, I am grateful for all the resources that surround me. Thank you all my wonderful friends and family. From me to you, love, Elaine.