Wine glasses and bead curtains and fruit bowls abound!

An early morning reading of a blog that I follow has had me on a train of thought today. Granted, it’s a train that’s been picking up speed since I decided to move recently. A new place which is actually an old place to be exact. I am moving back into a building I left just over a year ago. A building that I loved, and that I hated leaving at the time but I had to , due to circumstances. Now I ‘ll be moving back into the building, into a suite above my old suite, a little bigger and with more windows and better light  – a good move! A move that has me excited for a place that feels good.

So my blog perusing this morning got me thinking more deeply on something that I’ve been rattling around in my head for some time now. Roots, grounding, personality in environment…home. What does it all mean to me and what do I want and need?

We’ve all been in homes that are, very simply, an extension of the people who live there. Homes that you walk into and think “yeah, this is his/her/their place!”. That feeling is what I have always wanted – and never seemed to be able to find. I’ve been in homes of people who are partners yet radically different from each other in likes and tastes and styles and their home is what they are – a mix and combination of them, beautifully, and often oddly, intertwined. I walk into my partner’s apartment and it is “her”. Items on the wall, things strewn here and there, pictures and books and all the little things that reflect her in her surroundings. I spend time at my colleagues house and from the moment you enter, it’s “him”. The leather chairs, the bookshelves, the dining room table…it all feels and is his energy.

So I look around my place now again with eyes and a soul that doesn’t see “me” in where I make my home. Cold to me and impersonal. I don’t feel “me” here. It’s a space that I don’t feel good in – and it’s not the physical suite itself even.The very few items that make me smile and that I love in my space are rare. The eclectic wine glasses that strike a chord with me, the bright, mismatched tiles that I bought because I fell in love with them but have no purpose in mind yet, the fruit bowl that sticks out like a sore thumb because of it’s bright colours that match nothing else in my kitchen, the unfinished and ugly trunk that serves as my coffee table..all items that have snuck into my life the last few years that have that “feel” of me and home for me. The vast majority of what I call home, devoid of “me”.

I can’t fix the inside by changing the outside, again (thank you, my L for that reminder). Moving to a new place because this one doesn’t feel like home won’t ever fix the problem. I need to work on filling the space I am in with my energy and what I love and what makes me smile. That way, wherever I am, it’s home. So it’s time to shop and find and fill my home with things that bring a smile to my lips and that make me feel good when I am there and surrounded by them. Stupid bead curtains and all!

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I am

  • a revision of an earlier expression of mine

 

I am

 

she tears at me from my depths

searing me

the rawness of her scares me at times

her force expansive and full

all at once a part of me and yet all of me

she gnaws and clamors,

seeking, hunting for a way out,

demanding release,

freedom.

never to escape.

never to be gone.

her savageness is my self.

her primal ferocity is mine – is me.

she hungers for indulgence,

her restlessness simmers

her right to be acknowledged met,

welcomed…

born by pain, blood, rage, howls and screams,

born by softness, solitude, silence and love.

her screams no longer silent.

my eyes shine with Her light ,set free to luminesce

my heart beats, as it always has, with our strength, now  feeling it

embracing it,

in the purest sense, knowing it.

aware of coming home to my self.

her and I, one now, we weep and rage and laugh and are

expressed and celebrated

found, brought forth, joined and embraced

 

I am

she is

we are

complete in our fractured pieces

perfect in our imperfection

beautiful in our brokenness

I am her as she is me

we are

 

I am

Yes, it IS my mid-life crisis, thank you very much

Overheard at work today

“So she comes out as a lesbian, then a legal name change, now she’s moving. All she needs is a sports car and it’s a complete mid-life crisis!”

Followed by laughter and more talk that I didn’t hear because I walked away. Yes, it was me that was being discussed. While my initial thoughts strayed somewhere in the realm of daydreaming about buying a sports car and using it to run over the person who said those comments, that was short-lived.

The fact is that all those things said about me are true. It’s not like she was spreading lies or saying hurtful things about me. While I have known about, accepted, and expressed my sexuality for many years, I haven’t been very open about it publicly until last year. While I have been open that I went by a name other than my one given at birth, I didn’t legally change it till last year. Yes, I did find out yesterday that I am moving – again. So, all true. Not at all hurtful. I am not only comfortable with my sexuality and with being gay, I’m happy that I’m finally living openly how I choose to. I’m thrilled to have finally changed my name legally and have my paperwork match who I feel I am inside. Excited and happy about moving to a place that feels good to me. As for the sports car, if I do feel the desire to trade in my trusty four door sedan, I’ll do it if I want. Cause yes, I am mid-life and it’s not a crisis to realize that I can live how I want.

So go ahead and chit-chat behind a not-quite closed door. I’m the one smiling and walking away thinking how proud of myself I am that I chose this path. Sure it took me till midway through my life, but it’s better late than never.

moments held breathless

the whispers of your body against the sheets as you move towards me

your reach for me, your hands holding me close, bringing us in tightly to each other

your exhale as your body settles against mine

that moment when you sink against me, your body pressing softly to mine,warmth and closeness beyond physical

the hollow of your throat under my lips

your scent, filling me with desire

my nails running through your closely cropped hair

my tongue softly tracing the line of your ear, my breath whispers of anticipation

my kisses finding your neck, my teeth grazing lightly

the feel of goosebumps on your back as my fingers trail downwards, teasing, promising

the softness of your curves under my hands and my mouth

the lines of your body, beautiful with their raw sensuality and simple ease of movement

the arc of your hip as it rests under my hand as I drift to sleep

moments held breathless in their beauty

I am a woman, I am…

I am a woman, I am…

Today, which is International Women’s Day, I came across this: https://youtu.be/6i0A2nkjI9g

On the surface, it caught my attention as a great message to celebrate the strength and awesomeness of women. That’s what it is, and that’s a terrific message and one that I wholeheartedly support. So how did this few minutes of a positive message end with me in tears? It’s simply because as much as we need to loudly proclaim how strong and wonderful and capable women are – what happens when we aren’t?? 

A few years back there was a huge outcry about how society is raising boys to be men. Don’t tell little boys to “man up” or that “big boys don’t cry”. Instead, let them know that it’s okay and healthy to have, and express, the emotions that have always been associated with weakness and even – gasp – feminine traits. Emotions like fear, hurt, sadness, loneliness… emotions that make you feel far from the strong that society has told them have to be, always.

So I watched this video tonight and listened closely and heard a message that as a woman, I can celebrate that I am strong and fearless and courageous. An engineer, a scientist, a creator, a teacher, a race car driver… the list goes on and on. But where is the counter to this? Watching this, it smacks of a message that I am somehow wrong as a woman if I am NOT those things, even sometimes. If we need to show our sons that it is healthy and okay to reach out for a shoulder to cry on sometimes or a pair of arms to fall into when it all feels like to much to bear alone, where is that message for ourselves, as women? Have we swung so far out trying to project our equality and strength that we have created an arena that a woman now has to feel like she has to hide what could very well be seen as weakness if she says she isn’t strong, right now, at this moment? How is that woman supposed to feel about herself when she is being sold a message that she isn’t what she should be, as a woman? A message made for and made by, women.

I am a woman. I am strong and able and capable of anything I set my mind to. I am aware of my own power and embrace it.

I am a woman. I am at times not at all strong or capable or fearless. Sometimes I am needing and wanting of someone to be strong for me. Sometimes, someone else needs to be the rock. Sometimes I can’t be that for myself. There are times that I cry. Tears of fear or loneliness or just plain sad. There are times I don’t see my strength and I need someone to hold me and tell me it’ll all be okay.

As a woman, I am all this and more, and less.

I have the right to be not held to standards of what I should be by anyone, especially other women.

So simply, I’ll be a badass strong woman…or maybe not, today. Either way, I am a woman. I am whatever that means, to me.