Beauty in the eyes of the Beholder

Yesterday I was telling E. that he doesn’t tell me I’m beautiful anymore–that I don’t think he’s attracted to me physically or sexually anymore.  A few tears ran down my cheeks as I commented about this; it was unintentional… in fact, I’m not sure I knew how much I was feeling hurt about it.

But, just shortly after…as if he or the Universe knew what I needed, I received a message from him after sending him my beach photos that read: “I love you! You look beautiful!”

Remember this on days you are doubtful.

You can do it – put your all into it.

I never thought I would run a half-marathon.  Until a couple months ago, I never expected that I would want to or that I would be able to.  I often still think of myself as the girl who only got C+’s in PE class and walked the whole distance during school-organized runs.  Completing the ScotiaHalf was meaningful to me not because of the outcomes of the “race”, but because it reminds me that I can do anything I put my heart and mind to, and–more importantly–that I can do it on my own.

I think… the girl who dreaded studying–or simply being– without her boyfriend (physically, via text, or on webcam) throughout university days has come a long long way.  Over five years since I broke up with SC to achieve this feeling of being effectively self-sufficient, I think I can finally confidently say… I am doing it, and will keep doing it.

I’m going to need this reminder as I head into the train wreck that will be my last semester at UVIC next week.

#thisishowicope

GoogleMaps tells me that we are 14,000 kilometers apart, at least…nearly 10,000 miles.  Wifi signals are weak at best and non-existent at worst; and any cell phone reception for phone calls remain only for minutes in some towns outside of the main compound.  We have done our bit of long distance–semi-distance, as we called it–between Kelowna and Vancouver.  But this, between some town in Uganda and Vancouver… this is a new kind of long distance for us and a new kind of madness for me.  Radio silence has never existed between us; not when he was in Las Vegas and not when I was in Albuquerque or Victoria.  For the first time, he is no longer a text or phone call away.  And this was not expected.  Somehow, we had planned for better communication signals. But – I guess what I am learning throughout my relationship with him is this: we just have to accept the hand we are dealt, and make the best of it.  Trust the process, they say. So for the next 32 days (because yes, I am counting!), I am building a toolbox for coping; a copebox.  I will fill it with items that bring me peace, joy, calmness, faith, and trust during my moments of weakness.  I will fill it with items that help me feel strong and loved.  And I will fill it with all the affection I wish I could send him. This will be a work in progress, as many things in love and life are, I suppose.

item-1: quotes

“Courage is knowing what not to fear”  – Plato

“You get tragedy where the tree, instead of bending, breaks”  – Ludwig Wittgenstein

“All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on” – Herny Havelock Ellis

“Look closely.  The beautiful may be small” – Immanuel Kant

“Let everything happen to you. Beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final” – Rilke

“I hold this to be the highest task of a bond between two people: that each should stand guard over the solitude of the other” – Rilke

…to be continued.

keep running, keep going.

I seem to liken many things in my life to running lately.  I guess it’s because endurance running has felt like such an eye-opening, rewarding, and profound experience for me over the last year.  I have explored corners in my mind I didn’t know existed and surpassed physical limits I was sure of, all while on the treadmill.  Running has both eased my anxious mind and re-energized my soul when I needed it.  It has given me the drive I needed to proceed through the day, many days.  And through running, I have practiced mindfulness, perseverance, acceptance, and patience–with myself.  I am still learning to grow in self-compassion.

Not surprising then, many parts of my life feel like a marathon these days, where the journey promises to be long and the course full of hills and valleys of varying heights.  Sometimes I am just at the beginning of the race, sometimes I’m half-way, and other times, I’m in the final leg–exhausted and spent knowing there is no way out but through.  Today is one of those days.  Today feels like I’m on the pavement just after turning the last corner, at the bottom of the hill.  I must keep going, I can faintly see the finish line.  Oh but will I make it there? 

I recognize that running is a very solitary activity, as most of my preferences usually are (writing, reading, yoga, etc.).  Perhaps this is part of why I love it so.  When I run, I get to be just with me.  I am in my head, but for some reason, the landscape is so different during this time.  It’s a new playground of sorts, different from the one I visit when I’m exploring whilst sitting at my desk.  Can you imagine the distance I’ve traversed inside my mind, the places I’ve visited and revisited?  I wish I could paint you a picture.

Of course, the picture is not always pretty.  Sometimes when I’m short of breath, simply tired, or somehow in pain somewhere, I think about quitting, turning around, and forgetting the course I’m on.  I wonder where the finish line is, what is there, and if I actually care for the medal at the end.  Is there even a medal?  Is the finish line marked or am I running indefinitely?  I get lost in the questions and I start to fear the worst.  I psych myself out.  And that’s when I remind myself that I need to keep focusing on the present moment, the steps just right in front of my nose, and the immediate process.  I just need to put one foot in front of the other.  These are all that matter.  These will help me keep going.

As much as parts of me want to stop, I will keep going. It’s just a part of life. 

love as long and as hard as you can.

Nolite te bastardes carborundorum

Don’t let the bastards grind you down. 

– Margaret Atwood

In October 2014 after some dust had settled, I wrote a diary entry desperately reminding myself to always choose love over vengeance, over pride, and over spite.

Tonight I am really struggling.  I re-read what my wiser self 5 months ago said to do:

“I need to create a little secret room in my heart, a special space for when I am most crushed and disillusioned, a room I can visit where I can always access love for him when it is hard, so that no matter what happens–what mistakes or transgressions occur–I can find my way back to the magic.  I hope this room will do, I hope this works…because at the end of the day, all days, all I want is to be with him for all of my days.”

Little girl, little girl, love as long and as hard as you can.

I’m over you.

Every year when UVIC sends us course outlines for our Summer classes, I FREAK THE FUCK OUT: like here and here.

So much fear, anxiety, and dread ensue as soon as I process the subject line of the email: Summer 2015 Course Outlines & Required Texts.  As I go through these outlines, each word I read is followed, in my head, with “but I don’t want to…”, “aahhh, I don’t want to!”

I don’t want to.

It’s not so much that I can’t, because I know I can.  But, truly, I just don’t want to.  Books, class discussions, journals, group presentations, papers, tests.  What’s the point?

I would rather spend my energy, time, and efforts elsewhere.  Somewhere else.  You know, out there.  Leisure.  There, I said it.  That’s what I want to invest in lately.  It seems so immature of me that sometimes I think I must be regressing in my development.  Is there something wrong with this?  Work and school both seem to get in the way these days.  I want to develop my hobbies, pursue new passions, solidify connections…I want to engage with the world, or at least, be out there, be in it.  I want to explore, and try new things–not be cramped up in a smelly, poorly lit classroom followed by a stuffy germy library corner, and then followed by an overly used dorm room, day in day out.  Especially in the sunshiney months of July and August.  FUCK.

I know this will be the last summer of this madness.  But it’s one summer too many of life wasted.

Graduate-studies, student-life, I’m so over you.

a few lessons

At an exponential rate, I am quickly learning the sheer importance of

silence
solitude
space
and stillness

I am learning the power of not responding, not connecting, not moving toward, not even necessarily moving away.  I am learning that mere observation delivers great clarity and that knowledge, insight, and concerns need not always be shared. I am learning that there is much fulfilment, joy, and peace sometimes in being alone, and I am learning that sometimes I can be my own best friend.  I can protect myself, soothe myself, and love myself; and sometimes this is enough.

Still I search.

In my desperate search for answers, I have found Rilke–and sanity, and stillness.

This –

“But, once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people, infinite distances continue to exist, a marvellous living side-by-side can grow up, if they succeed in loving the distance between them which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.” – Rilke, in Letters to a Young Poet

What sore throats become.

I’ve had such a bad sore throat the last few days, and it’s been combined with an irritating dry cough of sorts since last night, waking me up every hour.  The doctor today said it’s likely just a virus, so… no worries there.  Right?

I wish it were that simple.  I feel so beaten down, so tired, so so exhausted.

VF commented today that he thinks I’m looking unhealthy because of my drop in weight.  Hm, is it actually starting to show? because I’ve been feeling unhealthy for some time now. Mentally unhealthy.  Ironic because “mental health” gets brought up around me, preached and prodded, oh so many times a day in oh so many different capacities.  And for great reason, of course.  Not to mention, I really do still dream of making a career in counselling where I hope to promote mental health as well.  But the truth of the matter is, right now, I don’t know where to start with my own mental wellness.  Most days I struggle with so much anxiety I can hardly focus on a task long enough to do anything productive at work.  And I think I’ve developed a sort of learned helplessness while I’m at it.  I am not really helping myself–and as much as I’m aware of that, I can’t seem to get my fucking shit together.  I keep running, and spinning; literally, at the gym, I do this desperately.  I try to keep my heart beating fast enough so that the adrenaline and the endorphins together can keep me from falling apart.  Some days I feel like I will fall apart.  Other days I wish I would–if only to see what would happen.

I can’t even tell what reality is anymore.  Is it me?  Is it the situation?  Am I misinterpreting?  Am I crazy? I couldn’t tell you.

My counsellor says I lack self-compassion.  A swedish proverb says:  love me when I least deserve it, because that’s when I really need it.   I sure as heck don’t feel like I deserve it right now, but perhaps that’s exactly why I need to somehow, in some way, find greater love and understanding for myself through this.  I need to help myself.  I need to love myself.  I don’t know how, but I need to somehow find a way to get through this….

I will start by writing.

The unexpected.

In my relationships during my (somewhat) younger years, anniversaries were synonymous with meticulously planned events throughout the day, overpriced fancy dinners, big bouquets of flowers, and shiny gifts.  This was true whether we were celebrating one month, six months, one year, or five years for that matter; the formula was always the same and I never thought to question it or to insist otherwise!

Unexpectedly however, celebrating one year with V this weekend taught me for the first time in my life that this formula was, interestingly, not a necessary equation for happiness.  I’m not even sure if it ever was a sufficient equation for happiness, just that it was the only one I knew.

When I look back on our anniversary this weekend, what brings a smile to my face and continues to warm my heart are moments like these –

when we tried to reach our hands far enough to hold each other’s fingers underneath a greasy table in a discount diner;

when he created a loving space for me to talk about my overwhelming feelings of anxiety, responding with more honesty, sensitivity, and affection than I could have dared to ask for;

when we fell asleep with our legs intertwined and our fingers locked, spooning in a single-sized bed;

when, knowing that I needed a pick-me-up during our walk, he led us into a cupcakery and bought me 3 cupcakes even though desserts are not his thing

when he showed me on the internet a photobook he had made for me, filled with captions he wrote on his own explaining why he loves me, how much he loves me, and how much he appreciates all the wonderful memories we’ve had together;

when we woke up in the morning to watch a movie in bed and paused it to cuddle during some parts in between; 

when he suggested we go for a walk, so we could revisit the exact same spot on the sidewalk of the street where we had our first kiss last year just to kiss again. and then we did just that; 

To name a few.

So while we did plan the details of some events throughout the day; we did have a lovely dinner at a french bistro one night; and he did greet me with a dozen roses…I realize now that these pale in comparison to the romance and happiness, to me, that came from the mere moments I felt so very close to him, so very cared for, and so very loved; these moments, as it turns out, were not a result of the tangibles I had previously associated anniversaries with.

I have a lot to learn.