Wednesday, May 29, 2013


There's gold in that there stream!
Sometimes I think I may be deluding myself.

Or, maybe I'm just not being as honest with myself as I think I am.

One thing I love about Los Angeles is its multiculturalism. There are ethnic restaurannts all over the city; from the Nepalese restaurant I haven't yet tried, to the Japanese-Peruvian one I love.

And along with this multiculturalism come ethnic pride festivals. I mean if we can have LGBTQ pride, why not Bosnian pride? Stands to reason, right?

I'm going to admit to being a bit superficial here. I mean most gay men are, right? After all we spend hours and hours in the gym sculpting the perfect body either for health reasons, or to attract a date/mate or just a roll in the sheets. Or, to feel better about ourselves in general.

"Steve", an ex of my first partner, "Tom", falls into the last category. He had such low self-esteem growing up battling weight, fighting his homosexuality, and just being a nerd. His self-esteem was in the dumps, until after breaking up with Tom, he -like most gay men (except me)- eventually joined a gym. Steve worked out and developed a nice phyhsique and attracted a lot of attention. According to Tom, Steve then turned into a narcissistic pain in the bum. He'd lead men on and then dump them. Tom didn't like this new behavior or attitude as this was not the man Tom had fallen in love with. Steve explained it this way, he'd had so little positive attention growing up, he felt he needed this attention to improve his self-image. I'm not sure I buy it, but it does sort of make some sense.

After Tom died, I lost contact with Steve.

But, back to my superficiality and LA's multiculturalism. And how they connect.

I will admit to being drawn to a handsome face. Sounds normal, right?  And to a nice body, too. Again, I'm only human, and a gay male. So, it all makes sense. So far.

I openly admit, here and now I have friended men on Facebook simply because of that attraction. I have no connection to them, except they are gay and male. And I find them very attractive or even effing hot. Some of them are actors/models/waiters with a promotional fanpage, okay, they asked me to friend them. So why not? However, most of the handsome men I friend are regular people; doctors, lawyers, television news anchors. etc. Some of them pop up commenting on friends' pages and I see them and, well, check them out. And send a friend request. They ususally add me. I call it networking!

And the delusions begin.

The delusion of meeting, and hopefully becoming real friends (or maybe more). And the closer they live to Los Angeles, the more earnest the delusion. In all seriousness, I do recognize the folly of this, especially after this weekend. Yet, I continue to do it.

I had friended a particular man who, in my most humble opinion, was very handsome, and very well developed. I mean, VERY WELL DEVELOPED. (He doesn't have a six-pack, but a twelve pack!) He'd had some professional photos taken, posted some on Facebook, all very tasteful and, yes, some were shirtless so, he has attracted quite a lot of friends, and admirers, I daresay.  He posted on his page he would be working a particular food booth at a certain ethnic festival happening four miles from my house. I mean, I'd be stupid not to stop by and say hello, right? And have some lunch from one of my favorite cuisines. Perhaps even flirt a bit. Makes perfect sense to me.

So, I planned my day around it. A couple of errands, and a stop at the festival for lunch and get a gander at this hunk. In the flesh, so to speak. And maybe talk to him, for real. I hoped. Maybe even get a date with him!

I started to get ready; after my morning shower I shaved, on the SUNDAY of a three-day weekend, forcrissake! I chose a somewhat form fitting t-shirt that showed I might have some chest definition, and it was in a color that accentuated the gray in my beard and drew out the color in my eyes. Then I realized, I was primping and preening, turning into a peacock to attract this guy's attention. And why? He was so hot, I wanted him to notice me, and in so doing I would feel better about myself. At last, I understood Steve's comment.

I drove to the festival, parked and walked back to it, making a beeline to find his booth. There he was, at the grill! OMGs! He was cooking!! A handsome hunk who could cook!! I'm in love. (And nearly married!)

Alas, the gods intervened. The place was sooooo crowded, and it being lunchtime, his booth was overrun with hungry people. I should have realized that lunchtime might be a factor, but did not anticipate the popularity of the festival, both of which prevented our eyes from meeting across a crowded ethnic festival. I mean, I walked by that booth at least three times. I thought of ordering from his booth, but there was still no guarantee he would take my order, allowing our eyes to meet or our hands to touch when he handed me the plate. So, I ended up eating something else, and walked around the festival a couple times. Yes, I circled his booth a time or two or three.

The delusions began when, in my head, we did meet, he liked me and we started seeing each other. Am I not being honest enough with myself when I say I'm not looking for a relationship? Or was I caught up by a pair of biceps big enough to crush a watermelon? Or was it his crystal blue eyes? (I'm actually partial to brown!)


Maybe, I'm not actively looking, but just waiting for someone who catches my eye.

And I catch his.

And it's mutual.

Sunday, May 26, 2013

Carts and Horses

Social media gives us glimpses into other people's lives whether it's a family member, an acquaintance, a celebrity, or someone we share something with and therefore want to connect with. I was following the adventures of one such person and surprised at how his life impacted my own.

We are both single gay male writers living on the west coast, but that's where we diverge. He has a bit more successful writing career going on, is more willing to go on dates, and lives in a different state while my writing career has just begun and I'm not interested in dating, at least for the time being.

I was following his Facebook posts, which seem to be frequent, and he would share those evenings when he was either stepping out either with friends or on a date, or simply staying in. At one point he shared that he likes to juggle about four guys at once, eventually weeding out those he just doesn't seem to connect with. My thought was "I could never do that. I'd get too connected to all of them, maybe, and then have an even bigger mess. I'd feel like I was cheating, even if we were keeping things casual." 

I guess I'm a one-man-at-a-time kind of guy.

A month or two went by and it seemed a prince emerged out of the pack. My friend was going on a third date (I must have missed the first two) with this guy who made one simple request for the evening: Please turn off the smartphone, no checking in or up on Facebook or Yelp, no Tweeting, no non-emergency phone calls, no texting. In short, Date-guy wanted my friend's undivided attention for the duration of the date.

Seems fair and reasonable.

And romantic!

My friend felt he could comply because all the other dates had gone really well and he was beginning to like this guy. But, compliance would be difficult, though he'd try.

I was beginning to like Date-guy. Here was someone who didn't seem to have Social-media-induced Attention Deficit Disorder! 

My friend's last post before disconnecting from social media for the night was something about him looking out his window and seeing Date-guy get out of his car with a bunch of red roses!

Awwwww. How sweet! 

And then panic hit me.

I could find myself in my friend's position some day.

I could meet a great guy, who wants my and gives me his undivided attention. He could really be interested in me as a person, not just as an image from some dating app. And then what next? He'd want to have sex! What if I'm not that good? What if I am? I'd have to move in with him or he with me. Would I have to sell my house? Where would we live? How do we combine two households? What furniture of mine would I get to keep? I love my dining room set even if it was a wedding present for me and the ex.

I've been accused of putting the cart before the horse, but it seems like I had this cart so far in front of the horse, they weren't even in the same county!

I guess I need just to follow the advice I got from Al-Anon, "One Day at a Time."

First, I need to get to a place where I actually want to meet someone. And take it from there.

One Day at a Time.

Btw, my friend reports the date went very well, they're scheduling the next one.
Good for him!

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Life with Ricky

Inspiration comes from many places, and I know I’ve said that before. And I’ll probably say it again. 

2010 was the beginning of a difficult transition for me. My husband of 15 years unexpectedly asked for a divorce. I felt my world was falling apart. 
And then Ricky Martin came into my life. Indirectly. He’d actually been in my life since he started living his Vida Loca, and Shaking his Bon-bon. Like almost every other gay man, I fantasized over him and wondered “Is he or isn’t he?” He actually did come out just six months before my husband walked out in September 2010, then Ricky’s book, Me, was released in November of the same year. He followed this up in January, 2011 with his first Spanish language CD in about eight years, Más Música + Alma + Sexo.

I find Ricky to be quite good looking. All right, he's damn hot! He has a beautiful smile, eyes that can go from sensitive to mischievous to downright bedroom eyes in, well, the wink of an eye. And let’s not talk of those shirtless pics of him circulating the internet. Woof! And through it all, his soul shines through. There is tenderness there, an essence, a feeling that he is indeed a genuine kind-hearted person. Okay, so maybe I'm a bit biased.

Now, I am not usually a fan of biographies, unless I have some great interest in the subject. (I loved Cher’s autobiography.) And like many gay men, I was curious as to what dirt Ricky would spill in his book. Would he name names? Inquiring minds (and libidos) wanted to know.

But, Ricky is quite the gentleman; he kept his dirt to himself. He talked about his relationships with other men, but no specifics, no details. Even the relationships he had with women, he kept their names to himself, respecting their privacy. And that makes him even hotter in my opinion. (And fantasy!)

But, his book left me with something more; a new philosophy of life. Now, before this, I had come to believe that things do happen for a reason. My husband left me for a reason, a reason that applied to me which I would find out some day. But, Ricky convinced me that while they do indeed happen for a reason, they happen at the right time for you to learn the lesson you need to learn. So, my husband left me, and I was ready to learn why. According to the Universe (and Ricky) at least.

In May of 2011, I got to see him in concert in Los Angeles. It was a very emotional experience for me, having read his book, and listened to his CD ad nauseum and believing he was there for me. Metaphorically, at least. His CD remains one of my favorites.

I've been moved by songs before, but rarely by almost an entire CD. There were lines in nearly every song that seemed to reach right into my heart and speak directly to me.

The entire song Será, Será, had a lot to say, here are the key parts that reached me:
Escondiéndote en las sombras,
No vas a encontrar lo que tú buscas,
Nunca jamás,
Abrazando tu destino
Paso a paso, poco a poco llegas, cuerpo y alma, corazón afuera, La verdad está en tus manos.
No tengas miedo a volar, no tengas miedo a sentir, no tengas miedo a soñar, no tengas miedo a vivir.

(Roughly translated; Hiding in the shadows, You will never find what you are looking for, never ever. Embracing your destiny, You will overcome. Step by step, little by little you will arrive, body and soul, heart out, The truth is in your hands. Don't be afraid to fly, don't be afraid to feel, don't be afraid to dream, don't be afraid to live.)

The entire song is one of encouragement. In an interview, Ricky alluded that this was his message to encourage those who felt who feel unequal, condemned, marginalized.

From the title song, MAS:
Nunca te detengas
Haz lo que tú sientas
Sigue tu destino
Fuera del camino

(Never stop yourself, Do what you feel, Follow your destiny, Off the path)

And although Te Vas, is a breakup song, these lines jumped out at me. Interestingly, I never felt my ex was saying this to me, but Ricky was offering me this piece of advice as I was going away on my new path. 

Te vas
Ya no tengas miedo de volar
Todo lo que quieras tú soñar
No esperes más
Es el momento
Es el momento

(You’re leaving, Now don’t be afraid of flying, You will be all you want to dream of, You will be reborn, Don’t wait any more, Now is the moment, Now is the moment.)

In the theater where he was performing, there were lines from the songs painted graffiti-like on the stage, and some panels around the audience.  Some lines were in Spanish, some in English. The only English one I remember now, two years later, is “Don’t be afraid of the dark.” When I read it, I began to tear up as I felt I was in a dark place and Ricky was telling me not to be afraid of it, that through the darkness will come the light and I will eventually be all right. Sometime. In the future.

I knew it had to be a translation of a line in Será, Será and I waited to hear if he would release an English version. I figured he might, since two songs on the CD has English versions. 

Eventually, he did.

And he spoke to me again in the song, It’s Too Late (English version of Será, Será.)

Don't be afraid of the dark,
Don't be afraid of the tears,
Don't be afraid of yourself,
Don't be afraid of the fear.

I know I haven’t taken the steps forward I’ve needed to. Yes, fear has held me back. Mostly it’s the fear of being hurt, the fear of making the same mistakes again and again and again, the fear of change, and the fear of being who I truly am. And yes, it's easier to tell someone not to be afraid, it's another to conquer it.

I think Marianne Williamson sums it up best:
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us. Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?

With all of these changes I've blogged about happening at the same time I'm feeling quite overwhelmed.

Maybe I need to follow this last part of It’s Too Late:
Piece by piece
Put yourself together
Hands and feet
Connecting with your heartbeat
Step by step
Take back the power

Once this school year is over, I feel I can begin to take back my power

Whatever it is

in order to become

Whoever I am

However long I need.

Sunday, May 19, 2013

I Bust a Nut

I have been struggling lately trying to figure out exactly why I feel so negative, so down, so donsey.

And I believe I've finally cracked that nut wide open.

As I've been questioning my self-esteem lately, some of the pain around being bullied and harassed surfaced. This in turn brought up some feelings about being gay, in general. But after dealing with these I would have thought I'd be feeling better. Maybe I didn't process them enough. And then it hit me.

It's not necessarily the gay thing, though the negative media attention and the continued struggle for acceptance and equality can weigh me down. Why must we fight to be treated as equal citizens in our respective countries? I came out at a time when that meant accepting you were second class status. That's hard to get over. 

But, that's not the dark cloud surrounding me. It's something else.

I'm divorced.

I swore as a child I never would be. After all, I suffered as child of divorce. It was hell. When my mother remarried she had a different last name, I didn't feel I fit in. My other friends weren't from broken homes as it wasn't common then. I wasn't going to put my children through the hell I went through. I wanted the perfect family; the wife, the kids, the dog, the cat, the nice home forever.

Then I grew up. And came out.

The picture itself didn't change, only the gender of my spouse did. I still wanted the perfect family, but with a husband, the kids, the dog, the cat, the nice home forever.

My sweetie, Maynard.
For a while I had that; a husband (though we didn't use that term), no kids (teaching killed that part of the fantasy), no dog (though, we might have had one later), a great cat (RIP Maynard, I miss you so much), a nice home (after a while), but it was not forever as he died in 1994, just days before our ninth anniversary.

Then I met my ex, and we all know how that turned out. And even in the ending years, I could not face the fact that my unhappiness was the relationship itself; that something needed to change. Yet, divorce was still not an option for me. I so wanted to believe in love-ever-after. I wanted, no, needed to fix my relationship, not end it. I wanted to show those straight people that two men could love each other so deeply even without the legal blessing or social recognition of 'marriage' that their relationship would last until death took one of them.

Times change. Marriage equality is now a reality in fourteen nations and twelve US states. I was married to my ex.

And now I'm divorced. Something I never wanted to be.

Times change, attitudes change. I need to change mine. Maya Angelou said "If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude."  I can't change the fact I am divorced. I mean, I could get married again, and then I wouldn't be divorced. But that is a whole other kettle of fish to examine. But, I can change my attitude about being divorced.

Divorce no longer carries the social stigma it used to. I mean, some people seem to collect them, e.g., the Gabor sisters had 19-20 between them. Well, maybe they're a bad example. But, even some ordinary citizens also seem to have multiple marriages/divorces. Does this mean people are no longer committed to a long term relationship? No, I'm sure some are. But, I'm not sure people think through the seriousness of marriage. Maybe divorce laws have made that a reality. Or, maybe people end things at the first sign of irreconcilable trouble. Maybe people just grow apart. Maybe there are other factors as well.
Maybe I just need to get over myself.
And move on...
And just be...

Sunday, May 12, 2013

Sticks and Stones

Sticks and Stones, Juneau, AK
"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.”


I have been called many names: “gayboy”, “queer”, “fag”, “faggot”, “girl”, “nerd”, “geek”, “ugly”, “know-it-all”, “Miss”, and “ma’am”.

I have been subject to mocking behaviors; kids walking up to or by me swishing their asses, waving limp-wristed, saying “Hi” in a very effeminate, lilting almost-drawl-like voice.

In High School, I complained about the name calling to a dean who told me I was overly sensitive and that I should not gesture so much with my hands when I talk. I wanted to tell him where to go. Idiot.

A few of those names are true. I am gay, but not a fag/faggot. I am not a British cigarette, nor a bundle of sticks to be used as kindling. Last I checked in the shower I am not a girl, nor do I want to be one. I do plead guilty to being a nerd or geek, but not necessarily a know-it-all. I happen to love useless knowledge, and only share it with my own kind; other lovers of useless knowledge. I do not consider myself effeminate, nor am I the butchest man in town, either. Like most gay men, I do have some queenly attributes, like my voice. I underwent speech therapy to try and naturally deepen it as it never changed during puberty. My pitch is considered to be lower than the lowest average female vocal pitch and higher than the highest average male pitch, right in the middle of the two. This is enough to still be subjected to being called names in public at this stage in my life.
But, I definitely plead guilty to being overly sensitive; my counselor even suggested I was empathetic, or perhaps, even empathic.
And it’s getting me into trouble.

Hiking to the Mendenhall Glacier, Juneau, AK
As a child I never understood ethnic humor. My step-father would tell racist jokes, and I recognized his stupidity in telling them. It physically hurt me to hear them, along with his prejudiced ideas. I couldn’t understand why he would make fun of people that way. After all, ethnicity is not a choice. Don’t we all have the same feelings? Prick us all, do we not bleed? I remember asking my mother why people made up these kinds of jokes. She had no answer.

In fourth grade, the bullying started. We had just moved from Sioux Falls, South Dakota to San Mateo, California, and so I was the new kid on the block and didn’t know anyone in the school. I didn’t know the rules of the games they played at recess, and no one bothered to teach me, so I didn’t get asked to play. Thus, I didn’t bond with many of the boys in the class, save one. The artistic one, go figure. Yet, we never played together on the playground. I bonded more with one of the girls who happened to live in my apartment complex. Since she was not considered ‘attractive’ by fourth grade standards, she was also outcast. (She was a bit chubby and wore glasses, the cat's eye kind.) So, we played together at recess and lunch, usually jump rope or something just the two of us could play. Because of that, I was labeled a ‘queer’ (whatever that was), as I didn’t do ‘boy’ things. I didn’t see anything wrong in what I was doing, so I didn’t understand why they called me names, and it hurt.

My family moved across town that summer. New grade, new school, new friends, hopefully. Fifth grade was a bit better, no so much bullying but just personality clashes with some of the other kids. I did manage to make one good friend, but that ended when we moved across the San Francisco Bay to the small community of Dublin. The bullying became relentless here. We stayed four and a half years from sixth grade to the first semester of tenth grade. I couldn’t wait to leave when we first got there, but once I entered high school, the bullying eased up a bit and I’d made some friends, again mostly girls, became active in a few clubs, and then hated to leave when the time eventually came.
Even though the bullying eased up, the damage was done. My self-esteem was shot. What hurt the most was I never understood why these people were saying these evil things about me or to me. I was a good person (I still am), I was a Christian (I am more spiritual now), I didn’t hurt anyone (I try not to), I just couldn’t understand why these people acted this way toward me or anyone else who was different. I still can’t. It still hurts. Deeply.

On my very first day of school in yet another new state, Colorado, I prayed to God things would be different. This could be a new beginning. After all, these people had never seen me before. They didn’t know me. Yet, the day didn’t turn out that way. I remember sitting at a table in class, and hearing, “See that guy over there?” I turned in the direction of the speaker to see him talking to his buddy, and pointing at me. “He’s a faggot.” God let me down. I wanted to die. Or at least move back to California.

Felled Tree, Juneau, AK
I don’t even remember knowing exactly what a ‘faggot’ was back then, but I knew it was a bad thing because of the disparaging tone of voice people used when calling me that. And God didn’t make bad things, or so I had been taught in church. So, I was very confused as well as hurt and miserable. I certainly wasn’t a homosexual because I was still a teenager, and not some dirty old man lurking in the bushes or down a dark alley offering candy to boys. And what that man would do if the boy took the candy no one told me. But, that was a homosexual, according to the church.

We moved back to California, but a little further north to the Sacramento area. Maybe this time would be different. Nope. I began to wonder if the idiots in Colorado called the idiots in California to tell them I was coming. By now, I’m in the eleventh grade and before leaving Colorado had begun preparations to study abroad for a semester. At least I might have an escape for a while. And I did. Those six months in Mexico were heaven. There was no name calling, I felt I was one of the bunch. Yes, I was a novelty, an American studying in the high Mexican desert, but the students liked me, they really liked me.

I returned to Sacramento to a full year ahead, my senior year in high school. Traditionally it is a year of anticipation and hopes for the future, but mine was a year of torment in the present. The bullying not only was back, but it seemingly intensified. And yet, here I began to get a glimmer that they might be right. I might be a faggot. I had begun noticing boys as far back as fourth grade; but now was beginning to understand why I was noticing them. I was noticing them because I thought they were cute. (Remember the artistic boy? He was sooo cute!)  But, in middle school, I'd had a girlfriend so I simply couldn’t have romantic feelings for a boy, too. After she and I broke up in ninth grade, I just hung out with the few friends I had, again mostly girls. And I didn't date. With each high school I attended, my social circle grew smaller.  So, I just stayed home and watched television when I wasn’t working.

Fast forward a few years, I survive high school, attend college in Los Angeles, and experience a few incidents of name calling, though most of the college students don’t seem to care. I eventually realize the idiots were right, I was gay. I mean, I am gay. I reconcile my faith with my sexuality, have two long term relationships with men, and come to terms with myself on all counts. And lead a somewhat happy life. 

Or so I thought.
Even now, some of those early feelings of anger, pain, hurt and self-doubt are resurfacing. I thought I’d dealt with them, but evidently not. They have been buried down deep like sediment, just now being brought back to the surface, some forty-plus years later.

Why? Why now? What emotionally seismic event has triggered this round of self-doubt? Of self-questioning? Of self-esteem? Is it my divorce with the feeling of failure? Is it the realization that the two long term relationships I had weren’t as fulfilling as I thought they were? Is it the mistakes I'd made in lessons I've learned from those relationships? Is it the economic struggle I went through after the divorce? Is it the two men I’d met post-divorce and the feelings that came up with them; a man who showed the potential to be nearly everything I am looking for in a future partner but somehow we seemingly misunderstood each other's intentions only to go our separate ways; or the one who simply wanted to have his carnal way with me (and possibly others) and then toss me off to someone else when he was finished, like a used tissue? Is it the cavernous conflict of emotions brought up by both of those extremely different scenarios and trying figure out what it is I want? Is it this small group of students causing me to actually teach less this year because I had to spend more time on their misbehavior and therefore causing me to feel I’ve failed the other students? Is it the continuous attacks on teachers and how we are portrayed as the roadblocks to real education reform by those with no educational background? Is it the eternal struggle for LGBTQ acceptance and equality as it plays out in the media? Or did all of the above stir up these emotional fossils?
Stream outside Juneau, AK

They say scars make you who you are. 

I must be someone damn special.

So, how do you overcome being overly sensitive without becoming jaded? How do you take the pain of the past and turn it into the strength of the future?

The trick is to turn the pain around, and embrace it. Give it no power. Learn from it.

And I'm learning I AM STRONG. Stronger than I often give myself credit for.

Now, I need to just keep moving forward, like water over a rock. 

One day at a time.

With no expectations.

Saturday, May 4, 2013

Unreality Television

I don't like reality television because it isn't. It's a misnomer in that many of the scenes are staged for a desired outcome. My ex-husband loved reality television, from anything on the Home and Garden network, to watching people buy houses in foreign countries. Nothing to challenge the brain. Well, occasionally he'd watch Law and Order: SVU, and I'd get my fix of Christopher Meloni, (oh, the vapors!) but that would be about it for mentally stimulating television. For the ex.
Christopher Meloni as Chris Keller in "Oz"
 The only reality program I did watch regularly, and actually looked forward to watching was The Biggest Loser. Having lost over fifty pounds myself, I watched for inspiration and tips to stay motivated to keep the weight off.

(I should say that post-divorce, and with the stress of this school year, it's creeping back up, so I should start watching it again. Or, at least exercise more.)

I'd get caught up in the contestants' stories, pick my favorites, and be amazed at their transformations during the run of the season. But, I really loved the theme song and one part stood out for me:
What have you done today to make you feel proud? 
It's never too late to try
I loved that song for that inspirational message.

Heather's CD, Close to a Miracle, 2006
Somehow, someway, (and before the ex left) I found out the name of the song, Proud, and that it was available as a single and by an artist I'd never heard of, Heather Small. I downloaded it and discovered even more inspiration in the song:

You could be so many people 
If you make that break for freedom 
What have you done today to make you feel proud?
Still so many answers I don't know (There are so many answers) Realize that to question is how we grow (To question is to grow) 

Further research told me she was a British soul singer and this was her signature song. I also found out this song was used in both the British and US versions of Queer as Folk as well as the London Olympics. And I thought I'd discovered a new talent.

A while later, two months ago actually, I discovered her CD, Proud, (1999). I promptly downloaded it and began listening. Nearly every song said something to me.

From Holding On:
I look around and I wonder
How much pain does it take
To admit to a failure
I've made a mistake
Holding on to you is letting go of me
Obviously, this is a break up song, yet, there are many things we can hold on to.

I have come to realize I am holding on to a lot from my past, pain, hurt, anger. And holding on to all that is taking away from who I am destined to be.

From Don't look for love:
People search but they don't know what they're searching for
People work but they don't know what they're working for
People hurt but they don't know what they're hurting for
People search but they don't know what they're searching for
Don't look for love
Don't look for love; let it find you
I have decided, for now, not to put profiles on dating websites or apps as I am not one to go looking for love. I am perfectly fine to live alone, or wait until the Universe deems it the right time for someone to enter my life. In the meantime, I have a lot of baggage to unpack and questions to ask. 

I'd better get to work.

There are so many people I could be.

To hear "Proud" by Heather Small click here: