Kinda Nervous to Say So

It happened one Sunday, a month or so after our first date. We had fallen asleep and I was the first to wake. I rolled over and he stirred. “Hey, you,” I said in a whispery voice. He smiled and replied, “I love you, too.”

I felt myself gasp.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. OMG, no! He thinks I said “I love you.” Hey you. I love you. Okay, I can see that. Crap! And while I do feel things are moving in that direction, it’s too soon. Plus, I’ve still got all these hang-ups around the L word that I’m trying to shake. My confidence is fast growing, but when it comes to saying it first, I hereby declare NOT IT.

I needed to handle this blunder fast. I couldn’t leave those three words—words my soul had been craving for so long—hanging. I didn’t want to embarrass him, nor did I want to pretend that’s what I had said.

So I smiled and I spoke. “I do love you.” The words came out feeling heavy on my tongue; I hoped all of my hopes that they felt breezy to his ear. “But what I actually said was, ‘hey, you.’”

We laughed, both feeling a little embarrassed and a little relieved. I further lightened the moment with a “Well, then!”

He responded with “I guess it is a little soon for that, right?” Then we swept it aside and carried on with simply being smitten.

That day, I finally learned there doesn’t need to be a dramatic build-up to get to the point where you are comfortable saying “I love you” to one another. In my last long relationship, after a few months in, I said it first. His response (which was not the one that ends with “too”) scared me—and scarred me—from using it ever again. The words he spoke in that moment were indeed heartfelt. But they were also a form of rejection. Rejection that I willfully accepted.

Loving someone, as we all know, is about so much more than saying I love you. And just to be clear, my ex and I showed love to one another in countless ways. But at the end of the day, I’m all about the classic gestures.

Over the years with him, I kept waiting for an apex moment, for an “I love you” to be spoken. That moment never happened—yet there it sat at the forefront of my mind, on the tip of my tongue, and on the surface of my flesh. I waited and waited. Finally, when I could wait no more for our relationship to be what it couldn’t, we broke apart.

That awfully long silence has come to an end. It started in the new year with my resolution to say more yeses in my life. Yes to myself. Yes to letting others in. Yes to possibility—and to potential. Yes to letting go of old haunts. Yes to living an epic life. Yes to being the master of my destiny and the pilot of my soul. Yes to love.

Now, still in the dawn of a new relationship, I express myself and my affections freely—and so does he. It took us a little more time to get there, but now it just feels right. As it should. As it is meant to. As I had forgotten it could be . . .

Soundtrack: “I Think I’m in Love” by Beck

Rules of Engagement

For me, for you, and for anybody else who needs a list of reminders to follow—in life, in love, and everything in between . . .

  • Our self-worth has nothing to do with how many clicks, likes, comments, or messages we receive.
  • We’re all human and we’re all being vulnerable by putting our hearts on the line. Treat everyone with the same kindness and respect as we’d like to receive.
  • Don’t fear the long road. Good things come to those who show up and remain true to themselves.
  • A new message notification is not puppet string. An immediate response is not a requirement—nor is it a sign of like or dislike.
  • The goal is to meet new people and make connections. That is all. Trust that the other stuff will fall into place.
  • Life is not lived behind the computer screen. Get out and do things you enjoy—or think you might enjoy. Explore. Try. And then try again.
  • Smile. Say hello. Make eye contact.
  • Make the first move. Strike up conversations. Take the gamble. The real living happens across the line that bounds our comfort zone.
  • It’s not just in the doing—but also in the being—that positive, lasting change takes place.
  • There is no timetable or growth chart or other measuring stick needed for us to live happy and fulfilled lives.

Soundtrack: “Don’t Be Shy” by Cat Stevens

I Climbed a Mountain and Turned Around

A week after A and I called it, I was putting in an offer on a condo. A gorgeous condo with 10-foot ceilings, recessed lights and dimmer switches, and top-down Levolor blinds. Did I mention that it was a two-minute walk to one of my favorite yoga studios, too? Well, it was. Even the wall colors looked like an exact match to the Ben Moore Manhattan tan and sea glass that filled my current home. I told myself--and my realtor--that I was just looking. Researching. And that I wasn't ready to fall in love right away. With a house--or another man. But this place had everything I wanted. (Read: everything I was already used to, everything I associated with comfort.) I tried my best to ignore my inner Veruca Salt, but I was determined to make this place mine. I wanted it now. So, my realtor and I reviewed comps, talked strategy, and I scrambled to get myself pre-approved, even though my down payment was locked up in my current home.

Apparently, 11 other buyers wanted it now, too. And even with my endearing letter, a best-and-final that was well over asking, and a bank that backed me up, I lost out. I was mentally prepared for this outcome--just as I was prepared for that Friday night conversation a couple months back, but the reality stung. Hard. Now what?

It took a little wallowing before I was able to see that, hidden in this heartbreak was an opportunity. A real golden egg. A day or two later, I got a blast e-mail from Dave Romanelli, the yoga + wine and yoga + chocolate teacher from NYC that I once took a workshop with at Exhale a few years back. The guy who inscribed my copy of his book with "Forever Drakkar" and then gave it a spritz. He was holding his annual Yoga for Foodies retreat in Sedona at Mii Amo in December. The retreat that I had read up on every year since and passed over because it was a bit pricey--not to mention far, far away. I signed up that very day.

In the six weeks leading up to my trip, I started to read up on Sedona and chatted with friends who had been there--both to the town, as well as to the all-inclusive destination spa/resort where the retreat was being held. And apparently, I had just booked myself a four-day trip to heaven on earth. A sage-scented, red rock-ensconced heaven where a handsome man would greet me with a necklace made out of ghost beads by a Native American elder, presents would be laid out on my bed every night, and my dessert would await me by the fireplace in my bedroom after I returned from my evening massage. Which I would follow up with a dip in the hot tub under a starry sky, a glass of wine resting on a ledge behind my shoulder. That kind of heaven.

That kind of heaven also included some decadent spa treatments like facials and clay wraps, and some powerful, emotion-releasing ones, too. One of these was a reiki healing attunement. With nothing more than her two warm, healing hands, Dana conducted and released the doubts and worries and uncertainties that had been caught inside me. Since the break-up. Since well before then. Palpitations that knew no better.

Words can't do justice to the experience, but it was a release like I have never felt before. Like a door that had been sealed shut for so, so long was now able to swing wide open. From my heart center to my hip bones, all I felt was space. Lightness. Freedom. Right then and there, in this body of mine that I've been carting around for all these years, I found myself at home.

Soundtrack: "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac

 

 

All I Want

Three days before . . . I want to:

  • Tell the truth--to myself and to the people in my life--so that I can live authentically.
  • Connect with my friends, with my colleagues, with my fellow yoga students in a deeper way than just saying "hello" and "I'm good."
  • Say "I love you."
  • Be told that I am loved.
  • Be willing to be vulnerable.
  • Be seen for who I am--someone who's just trying to find her way and make the most out of life.
  • Stop looking for my self worth at the bottom of a container/bowl.
  • Be fully present in conversations.
  • Strengthen my relationships.
  • Be brave and stop playing everything so safe.
  • Give thoughtfully.
  • Let go; smile more, laugh more, cry more.
  • Make the first move.
  • Reclaim my focus.
  • Make my 40s the best decade yet.
  • Remember how much I have to be grateful for.

Soundtrack: "All I Want," by Toad the Wet Sprocket

When "Fine" Is Anything But

Years ago, I attended some marketing seminar for work. I can't tell you what the program was about--only what the instructor said upon introducing himself to me. In response to the standard "how are you," he replied in a voice that was both booming and bright, "I'm positively positive." Which made my "I'm fine," from two seconds beforehand feel positively lame. Fine. That word is about as exciting as a room-temperature bowl of unflavored gelatin. It's the I'd-rather-not-say-and-I-don't-expect-you-to-understand-or-really-care response. And I'm guilty of this on thousands upon thousands of accounts. Not because things were or were not good. But because I didn't feel like sharing my truth. Feeling like I'd be judged as a Debbie Downer or a Perfect Pollyanna, I played it safe--unflavored gelatin safe--and gave my blasé answer. Sorry about that, world. Really, I'm not that boring.

But something happened a few Mondays back that changed all that. I came into work after everything happened and one of my coworkers innocently asked about my weekend. "Horrible," I replied and sat down. There was no hiding behind a "fine" that day. Or ever again. Tears pooled in my eyes and I told her the story. And there lies the turning point where I could readily identify "fine" as being anything but.

I've caught myself on a few occasions since, dialing down my old standby to an "okay" or an "alright." Same difference. Sometimes, yes--it's a cop-out. Other times I know we're both in a rush and one or two syllables are all we've got time for right then. But when appropriate, I've been getting much more truthful with my responses. I'm acknowledging the challenges, but balancing them with something hopeful and honest. Like this:

"I'm really sad about my relationship coming to an end, but I found a great new place to live that's a half-mile from one of my favorite yoga studios. And now that I have a monthly unlimited pass, I'll be there all the time."

"Fine" is a conversation killer, but the honest and open version is full of substance and talking points. And it's that kind of substance that's going to build connections between people. So, how about we commit to adding a double shot of truth to our pleasantries? I'll start.

Soundtrack: "Let Your Heart Be Known" by Steve Gold

So Don't Give Up

When I was beginning along my yoga teacher training experience back in 2005 and feeling incredibly unsure of myself (Who am I to think I have something to offer these people? I can't even do a handstand. And my abs are *so* not flat.) I came across this quote:

"When you experience uncertainty, you're on the right path--so don't give up."

Yes! Reading those words made me feel validated, understood, and so capable. It took the stigma out of my fear of the unknown and my too-high expectations for myself. It made me feel like I was part of a club.

Talking about the end of my relationship has been a lot like that. Aside from the inherent sadness, the recovering perfectionist in me felt a little embarrassed about having not "made it." At first what felt like such a unique experience--so many years, such deep caring, such trustworthiness, and yet . . .--I came to discover just how many of my friends had experienced this before.  I was far from alone in this one.

But back to the quote about uncertainty. As I continued along that teacher training path, that quote became my mantra. Experience uncertainty. Don't give up. And over the course of time, I found my confidence. I found my voice. I proved to myself that I could do it. That uncertainty is not the flashing "don't walk" signal; in fact, it's quite the opposite. It's the "walk man" with the wind at his back. Uncertainty is just how the signal gets translated in your head. Your heart is saying "I've got this."

Then one day, with the teacher training experience behind me and a studio full of students before me, I ran these words through my head once again. Only they came out differently this time around. Having made it over the learning and the social curve, the quote had morphed into this:

"When you experience humanity, you're on the right path--so don't give up."

I remember looking it up when I got home from teaching to see if I had remembered it incorrectly. The new version made so much sense. It felt even more powerful than the original. The message I had received was that when you open  yourself up to people--when you simply show up and be yourself--insecurities, vulnerabilities, and all--people will meet you where you are. You won't be judged, chastised, or criticized. Relatability is revered. And since none of us are perfect . . .

But back to processing my relationship. I am grateful beyond words for the gracefulness of humanity that I've experienced these last two-plus weeks. Kind words, kind gestured, kind thoughts--and dozens of relatable stories--all in the spirit of creating and strengthening a bond. The transition before my eyes--from countless individuals to a united force--has been a tremendous feeling to experience.

Oh, humanity. Your "this" and my "this" may or may not be the same. But you have a heart and I have a heart, and that makes us so much more alike than not.

Soundtrack: "Don't Give Up" by Peter Gabriel & Paula Cole.

Gone, But Not Forgotten

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KHytuO8xVkw[/youtube] I hear the sound of an orchestra tuning, and decades-old memories of sending out the concert C come rushing back. Creating a sonorous slice through the audience's chatter with my oboe, followed by the hush. The anticipation. Theirs. Mine. Ours. A symphony unto itself.

Long skirts and crisp white blouses at Alice Tully Hall. Matching blazers and Russian Christmas Music at Woolsey Hall. Sharing pizzas in New Haven. Soaking my reeds in one of my father's old film canisters. Humming melodies. Dreaming of the Boston Pops.

This jumble of noise, the vibration of everybody matching their pitch to me, filled me with equal parts fear and confidence. Leading the pack and blending in all at once.

Even though my orchestra years are long behind me, it's a role I find myself still playing to this day, in work and in life. I set the foundation and then retreat, only to occasionally and precisely--deliberately--be heard.

Swells and dips. Crescendo and pianissimo. Quality not quantity. Always.

_________________________________________________________________________  © 2012 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because resonance is multisensory. 

Going Up

As I was weaving my way through Sears to get out of the mall, I overheard a little boy exclaim to his parents, “Look, an escalator!”

His enthusiasm was befitting of a basket of kittens or, say, a Matt Damon sighting in Harvard Square. But no, it was an escalator—going up—and to him,  it was a sight to behold.

I don’t know the last time I got that excited over something so ordinary—but he made it seem like such fun. I need to give that a try.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because everything is relative. (Photo by (M.E) Morgan via Creative Commons.)

This Thing I Love: The PS22 Chorus

*swoooon* [youtube] OKPC-T3jjRg[/youtube]

Have you heard about these kids? The PS22 Chorus is a group of fifth graders from a public school in Staten Island, NY. Their ebullient teacher, Gregg Breinberg, encouraged the school to let him start a chorus back in 2000—despite previous financial cutbacks to the arts. Fueled by a whole lot of heart and moxie, Breinberg launched a program that is nothing short of remarkable.

Mr. B., as he’s known, has introduced these kids to an unexpected repertoire: Tori Amos b-sides, haunting melodies from Bjork, iconic ’80s tunes, and big hits from artists like Lady Gaga and Coldplay. Sophisticated lyrics, but there’s something about the kids’ renditions that showcases their innocence and pure potential—and makes you want to write a huge check to the Save the Music Foundation.

So inspiring!

Not to mention, I just adore their Peanuts character dance moves.

[youtube] h0FPZolbYns[/youtube]

Check out all of the PS22 videos (there are hundreds more just as cool as these) at www.youtube.com/user/agreggofsociety.

_________________________________________________________________________ © 2010 Good Karma Housekeeping. Because even though I believe the children are our future--I don't need to hear them sing any Whitney. That would be whack.