The Rules of the Game

My mama always taught me that honesty is the best policy.  Just be honest with yourself and others, and life will flow from there.  Karma can't bite you when you're simply being truthful, she told me.  There's only one small caveat:

Dating.  

Evidently, in dating, honesty is for desperate people.  It's for girls who either aren't smart enough to play the game right or else fast girls who disregard the rules.  

"But Mom," I implored, "why can't I just tell him that I like him?"
"Because you can't," she replied easily, with a tone that implied I should know better than to ask such silly questions.  "It's the way the game is played.  You have to follow The Rules."

Fifteen years later--all right, eighteen years (zip it)--I'm still trying to figure it all out.  Okay, I've been married, so I must've done something right at least once...but truth be told, I'm just plain confused.  What are The Rules?  How do I know if I'm doing this whole messy thing right??

So now.....hypothetically....just go with me here....let's just say that you're out with girl friends on a Saturday night and you meet an amazing guy.  He's tall, dark, handsome, fit, and--best of all--he's SMART.  He's perfect! you gleefully think to yourself.  You make plans for a date the next week, which goes off without a hitch.  Drinks, appetizer, great conversation, good body language--you're in heaven.  He walks you back to your car, and leans in for that perfect goodnight kiss.  Which, of course, turns into at least ten goodnight kisses.  It's all incredible and you're floating away........

Until The Moment.

"Do you want to go back to my place?" he whispers in between hot kisses, his hands in your hair and your heart all a-flutter.

What do you do?!  If you say yes, does that make you fast, slutty, or otherwise undesirable?  If you say no, does that make you prudish, boring, or otherwise similarly undesirable?  If you go with your gut, does that mean you've disregarded some Rule?  Are The Rules the same today as they were when my mom was dating?  What if you make the wrong decision and he never calls again?  I can hear my mother's voice in my head: Remember The Rules, honey.  Wait, what?!  For a second, you wonder if this incredible man can hear her, too.  

So much confusion in a nanosecond.

A galactic love ... a simple garden ...

Once upon a time, you ruled my universe.  You were my sun, my stars, my galaxy.  I got lost in the heat, the passion, the craziness of it all.  I was an ever-expanding star, glowing in the warmth of what I thought was love.

When you left, I felt like a supernova that had collapsed into a black hole: devoid of emotion, of feeling, of life.  Slowly, bit by bit, I have been reawakening, finding a new orbital path and a reason to shine again.

The best gift you gave me was the gift of freedom.  Freedom to find out who I am, who I want to be, and what I have to do to get there.  It's going to take time, to be sure, but I'm learning to love the journey.  And since I'm not lost in space anymore, I've found focus around something much smaller and more meaningful.

As it turns out, the best things in life require patience and love.  I'm sure many of you knew that already, but we all find our own truths in our own time, right?!  But think about it: we are patient with our children, with our gardens, with our friends and loved ones.  Why should it be any different with yourself?  If you are really going to fully develop to your true potential, it will take time and effort, and it's a labor of love. 

Creating yourself is like planting a perennial garden.  Each year, you add new plants, some that thrive in shade, some that grow best in sun.  Some plants die, and some plants just need a little TLC to make it through a drought. This year, I am planting seeds of patience and self-love, while I continue to nurse along my intellectual side and prune back the sarcasm.  Giggling with my kids has become the sunshine that all the plants need, while my running is the wind that gently rustles the dead leaves from the plants, allowing room for new growth.

We can't rush headlong into half-cooked plans, relationships, or ventures.  To do so is to put the garden at risk, as if to introduce a new plant without knowing its eventual height or growing space.  Sometimes that plant has to be ripped out, leaving a hole in the soil...but it's a hole that will be filled with the right plant for the garden--one that will complement the overall beauty without detracting from any of the individual other plants.  Synergy and balance must be sought in order to achieve peace in our gardens: children, a significant other, family, friends, and hobbies. 

Like those sunflower fields we saw in South Dakota last summer on our motorcycle trip, with their sunny seed-filled faces turned toward the sun, I am turning myself toward the warmth I need to grow.

I am not meant to stand on the sun or float among the stars; I am but just a girl. Instead, I will stand under the sun and grow.

In my mind, I am....

First of all, I apologize to my dear readers.  It's been awhile.  I missed you, but I was sorting through some stuff and honestly, you wouldn't have been interested.  Or maybe I've misjudged you and you would have been terribly interested, but the moment has passed us by now...and there is only one way forward now...

....and it's with a funny story.  Who doesn't love a good funny dating story?!

So my gal pal went out with a guy tonight that she met via an online dating site.  This was the second date--the first "date" was just a meet/greet over a cocktail.  This was a bigger deal: start with dinner, open-ended, who-knows-where-the-night-will-take-us scenario.  Butterflies in the tummy, carefully planned out outfit...the whole nine yards.

[You should know that my gal pal is no dummy: she always Googles her dates before she meets them, in case their axe murderers, rapists, or...(gasp)...without an online presence, which is a red flag in and of itself these days.]

So, as Mr Fantastic is late for this dinner date, she finds herself with a few spare moments to check around the internet for any signs of freakishness.  And it's not what she finds that gives her pause, it's what she doesnt:

No divorce filing.  But wait, she thinks, he told me he was divorced...

Mr. Fantastic finally shows up and after a bit of small talk, she cuts right to it:

Her: What state were you divorced in?
Him: Minnesota.
Her: Really?  'Cause there's no court record of it anywhere.  Not even an initial filing.
Him: Well...umm....
Her: Are you divorced or not?
Him: Well, in my mind, I am.

......Annnnnnd....SCENE.  She paid the bill (since there's no sense in owing a guy dinner) and was out the door.

Integrity?  Naw. 
Honor?  Nope. 
Fully-engulfed, flaming pants on a liar?  You betcha!

Have a little faith in me....

Faith.  It seems like we talk about it all the time: keeping the faith, having faith, believing in faith to get through a rough patch.

But what does that really even mean?  How do we define this one word that carries so much weight, particularly when times are tough?

For starters, I consulted Google--the foremost authority on all matters, right?  (Or, at least, it is to my generation!)

 

"Complete trust or confidence in someone or something"?  Yikes!  That sounds so....huge.   Can we settle for partial trust or confidence?  

But in matters of the heart, we can't really settle at all.  It's an all-or-nothing proposal when it comes to love.  You can't sort of love someone.  You can't half-ass a relationship and get good results.  You can't have some form of Faith Lite and expect that the Universe will honor it when you can't be bothered to commit.

When people make mistakes, as they're bound to do, forgiveness is really only the first step.  What I have realized it that there is this important second step called faith.  Faith in the power of someone to grow from his mistake, to adjust his course, and to right the wrong over time.  Forgiveness seems almost to be the easy part; the hard part is to have the faith to believe when there is no evidence to support it.  

For as a person who believes in empirical data, as a person who lives in a world where statistics and quantitative analysis can make (or break) a case decisively, having faith in the unseen and unshown requires superhuman mental strength.  It's a daily exercise to believe in something for which there is little to no proof.

And while I'm far from a religious person, I do like to believe that the Bible holds some gems of truth.  Among them, this:

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.  Hebrews 11:1 

Even 2000+ years ago, people struggled with the idea of faith.  And they wrote about it, imploring generations to come to keep hopeful and confident, even when there is no tangible reason to do so.

Years later, the dear Saint Mother Teresa underscored these teachings and reminded us of this:

Do not think that love in order to be genuine has to be extraordinary. What we need is to love without getting tired. 

Be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies.

Other religions remark upon the power of faith as well:

And those who believe and do good are made to enter gardens.

Surah Ibrahim, Verse 23 of the Quran

On the long journey of human life, faith is the best of companions.

Buddha

And so I wonder: who am I to disbelieve what wise people through the years, across cultures, and in varying conditions, have told us is virtuous and beneficial?

While I am struggling to accept the love that is in front of me, I am finding it way harder to establish faith.  But without one, there cannot be the other.  A love that is not supported by hope and faith will not be a lasting love.  And a faith that is not embedded in a love is nothing more than a wish.

So now I settle my rapidly beating heart and quell the anxiety.  I inhale peace and turn myself over to the unseen, allowing love and faith into my soul.  It's the only way forward. 

Capture the Flag

When I was a kid, we used to play games in the suburban cul-de-sac I grew up in--every child on the block would come out after dinner and we would collectively decide whether tonight's game was Capture the Flag, Kick the Can, or just a simple game of tag.  Even as the hot summer sun was setting in the red July sky and our moms were hollering at us to finally come in, we would pursue each other without relent.

Years later, as adults, we still play these games--albeit in a "grown-up" format and with far more serious consequences.

These days, I find myself talking with my friends about a game of Capture the Heart.  In this version, the rules require us to hide our emotions away and leave tidbits and clues to only the truly discerning among us as to the whereabouts of the special prize.  As Julie, Angela, and I explored this topic over cheap beer in a sticky bar tonight, I found myself wondering why one person understands our vague language of love while others completely misunderstand the translation.

What is it about one particular person that makes our hearts race?  That sets our souls on fire and sends the stars careening?  How can one kiss--that brief contact of our mouths--turn the world upside down when it's with the right person?  Do our hearts instinctively know that the heart beating on the other side of that chest wall is the one that was meant to be? 

Though the trials be fiery and the road be twisted, I have found the one whom my soul loves.  To be sure, he has broken my heart more times than I dare recall.  But on a beach in southern California two short years ago, he won me over in a daring and audacious game of Capture the Flag Heart.  As the salty sea air whipped around us and the bright yellow sun turned to pink in the evening sky, he kissed me on a Huntington Beach pier, stealing a bit of my breath and all of my heart.  In a game that is sometimes reckless and always adventurous, he took the prize fair and square under all applicable rules of love and war.

In all of the dizzying confusion that has ensued, I do know this: that when I look into his eyes and see the very reflection of my soul, I am with the right person.  When I feel his heart speed up to match the pace of mine, when I hear his breath slow to meet mine, when I taste the sweetness of love in his kiss...I am with the right person.  All else falls away: the hills and the valleys level out to become a plateau, grace envelopes me, and hope becomes more than a whispered prayer.

Tonight, in a fervent sigh under his breath, I heard these sweet and everlasting words:

Wherever you are is always going to be my home.

Emotional Kevlar

With a heavy heart, I've been thinking all day about the recent line-of-duty death of Officer Tom Decker of the Cold Spring (MN) Police Department.  Officer Decker was just 31 years old and leaves behind a wife and children.  By all accounts, he was a fine man and a good cop.

In talking over the tragic event with a friend, I reflected back on my own marriage to a police officer.  When we were dating, I used to make him call me at the end of each shift so that I knew he was okay.  After a few months of these 4:00 am wakeup calls, I was exhausted...and hardly consoled with regard to his safety.  Finally, I consulted his mom: how did she handle the stress of both her husband (a commander) and her son (an officer) being cops?

"It's in God's hands," she told me.

Although I have never been a religious person, for some reason her words made sense.  Worrying wasn't going to keep him any safer.  I tucked her advice into my heart and tried to keep calm and carry on.  After all, what option did I truly have?

Every day that my husband would put on his bulletproof vest with the extra layers of Kevlar over his physiological heart (called, horrifyingly enough, a "trauma plate"), I would layer another piece of my own Kevlar over my emotional heart.  I isolated my fears to keep them from invading the rest of me.

As it turns out, bulletproof vests aren't really bulletproof--they're only bullet-resistant to some forms of ammunition.  Some of them won't even repel a knife stick.

And like the myth of the "bulletproof" vest, my emotional Kevlar wasn't fail-proof.  Sometimes, the bad news found its way through the woven fibers and straight into my core.  I've been to two line-of-duty death police funerals--one of them just days after we returned home from our honeymoon--and I assure you, they are not for the faint of heart.  It's soul-numbing to see a grown man in full police uniform with tears running down his cheeks while he stands at attention to honor his friend.  On those occasions, you wrap your arms around your husband a little tighter, you cry, and you try to convince yourself that it won't ever be you.

Emotional Kevlar, as a concept, isn't unique to cop spouses/partners.  All of us have walls that we've built up to protect our hearts from one reality or another.  The trauma plates that protect our emotional centers are the result of fear, whether real or perceived.  Sometimes they're based on our own bad experiences--times when we were the target of metaphorical gunshots--and sometimes they're the result of someone else's tragedy that we've internalized.

The question becomes: Is the Kevlar necessary, or should it be retired?  And if it is necessary, is it thick enough to prevent tragedy?

My thoughts and prayers go out tonight to Officer Decker's family and loved ones, friends, and fellow officers.  I will say another prayer tonight for all of my friends in law enforcement who put their lives on the line every day so that the rest of us may sleep in peace.  There will be a third prayer for the family members who support our police officers--those families that give up birthday parties and anniversaries and sometimes even their loved ones so that you and I are safe.


This photo was taken on the chilly November day in 2007 when the Minneapolis Park Police buried Officer Mark Bedard, who was killed in the line of duty while pursuing a drive-by shooter.  Officer Bedard touched many lives and his gift to all of us is not forgotten.

It's of my then-husband and I, reunited at the end of a long and terrible day--a day when he was the one standing tall, saluting the casket of a friend, with tears falling on his cheeks.

source: Star Tribune

Theory of evolution

"You have to force yourself to evolve."

--Taylor Swift

I'm not sure Taylor Swift was referring to who we are in the context of our love lives here...but then again, maybe she was!  I mean, really.  Listen to her songs and you'll know what I mean.  In fact, it's probably instructive to listen to her while you're reading this blog.  Start with "Red" off her new album. 

Anyway....I was reading an article about her song writing and BOOM!  there it was, the words practically jumping off the page at me.

I used to think that evolution occurred only after enough damage...which is really probably more like erosion.  You know: enough wind and rain can cause small rocks to fall off the face of a cliff...eventually big rocks fall...and next thing you know, a beautiful new rock formation is exposed.  Geologists swoop in and find fossils and dinosaur bones and what-have-you.  Cool stuff.  Shiny stuff.  Meaningful stuff.

I'm ridiculously optimistic.

Turns out.....erosion in people is just simple destruction.  Wind and rain from bad relationships can erode you into a shell of your former self.  What once was sparkly can become dull, and you might not even realize it for awhile.  You have to be careful to protect yourself and know when to come in out of the rain.

Evolution is far different.  In nature, evolution occurs when DNA adapts to changes in the environment.  In people, our emotions can adapt in much the same way--but we have to let it happen.  In other words, get out of your own way.

We can keep on making the same mistakes in relationships, or we can see that the environment demands us to do otherwise...and then step aside so that we can make those needed changes.

I got an email this weekend from an ex.  When I read it, I knew he wanted me to respond, even though it contained the classic "you don't have to reply to this" line.  And in the past, responding always meant that there would be an exchange, and then ultimately a meeting, and then SNAP! we'd be back together, on the same path to nowhere.  So I thought about it.  I brooded about it.  I drank a bottle of wine over it.  And in the end...

I chose evolution.