Clumsy and Angry... Or, Falling Gracefully

I am clumsy.

If there is a crack in a sidewalk, I'll catch my heel in it.  If there is a doorknob, I'll smack my wrist against it.  I catch my hair in the car door, my scarves get stuck on screws and locks on bathroom stalls and my clothes are continuously stained with drips of soup or chile or ketchup.  Once, while on a first date, I got soy sauce in my hair.  I usually joke that my mom didn't name me Grace for a reason and I handle these mishaps with a fair amount of good humor.

In January, I fell walking through a parking lot that didn't have any cracks or holes.  There was a gentle slope in the parking lot and I tend to slightly drag my left foot when I walk.  My foot dragged on the slope and down I went.  A nice gentleman had just walked out of the restaurant and saw me go down.  While I chased a lip gloss that was rolling through the parking lot, he picked up the other contents of my purse that had flown out.  After assuring him that I was fine, I limped into the restaurant.  The adrenaline wore off, the pain set in and shortly thereafter, the swelling began.  My ankle was purple and ugly and I was really angry that I fell.  Again.  I was angry that I'm not more careful and I was angry that it feels like I have no poise or grace.  I feel like I just clunk around, knocking into things and falling down like Steve Martin in, well, every movie he's made in the last ten years.

I've never been graceful.  In addition to my clumsiness, I sometimes speak too loudly (or I don't think before I speak), I joke a little too much and sometimes hurt people's feelings and I can be harsh with my opinion.  I've come to accept this about  myself and I try and be more mindful of these traits, but sometimes I don't catch myself in time.  Later, I'll spend hours beating myself up over some joke or some criticism I made without thinking.  I am hard on others but never as hard as I am on myself.  In fact, I'm willing to forgive just about anyone much quicker than I'll ever forgive myself.

West window of the Bataan Memorial Building, Santa Fe, NM.
Poem by Bridget Green for the Snow Poems Project* 

I don't know how to handle hard times with grace.  I tend to go to anger - recently, there was a break-up between two people I care deeply for.  Instead of reacting with sadness or even compassion, my grief manifested itself in anger.  I was angry with them for breaking up, for not telling me right away, for feeling betrayed and abandoned.  I didn't have the grace to look beyond my own feelings and trust that they knew what they were doing.  I simply got angry.

I've written before that anger is how I protect myself when I'm feeling hurt, sad or afraid.  I don't want to be consoled when I'm angry.  I don't want to be hugged or held, nor do I want to hear platitudes.  I just want to be angry.  When I'm angry, I don't have to face the truth of my feelings: rejection, abandonment, fear, insecurity and jealousy - to name a few.  When I don't face those feelings, I don't have to deal with the past hurts that keep bringing those feelings up.  Instead of getting to the root of my truth, I clumsily fumble through life and I keep falling down.

The interesting thing about falling down, however, is that I always get back up.  Anger subsides, bruises heal, and I have to keep moving forward.  That, dear reader, is grace.  Opening one's eyes each morning and getting out of bed (or staying in bed for the day and trying again the next) is having grace.  While I have no idea what it is like to always say the right thing, move through this earth on a gentle glide and always have the right answer, I know I have the grace to admit when I'm wrong.   Though sometimes I have to do it with gritted teeth, I can ask for help and support and that requires an extraordinary amount of grace.

I wrote last time that I met someone.  Falling in love feels just as clumsy as falling down.  Opening up and allowing myself to be vulnerable has sown a whole new crop of insecurity and self-doubt.  What if I'm not cut out to be in love?  What if he hurts me?  What if I'm being played?  What if I screw this up?  What if this doesn't work out and I have to go through the terrible process of meeting someone all over again?

What if I fall and he isn't there to catch me?

When I am able to stop thinking what if, I have clarity - I don't need him to catch or carry me.  I need him to be my partner.  I can't control this relationship and the directions it takes.  I can only be mindful and operate from a place of love.

It takes a considerable amount of grace and an incredible amount of love to stay solid when one wants to fall apart.

It takes grace to face fear, and in February, one of my biggest fears surfaced and there was no avoiding it.

To be continued.

Next time: Two Minutes of Happy 

*This photo was taken in Santa Fe, NM.  It is a window that is one story high and part of the Snow Poems Project.  This particular poem is by Bridget Green.  For a complete listing of poems and poets, as well as more information, please visit: http://snowpoemsproject.com

Translation:

The Art of Falling
We can learn
from snow
that falls without knowing how
or where
or why

It's Just One Date... Or, Magic

Recently, a friend of mine was freaking out about a first date that she was planning.

"Where should we go?  Should I text her?  Where should I suggest we go?  Should I offer to pick her up?"  Everything was familiar about the way my friend was freaking out, and in her freak out, I remembered how crazy-making first dates can be.

I sometimes wish I could get back the energy I poured into first dates.  I spent hours talking to different friends about the date: my outfit, the location of the date, how many times my potential mate and I had spoken leading up to the date.  I would spend a few more  hours planning my outfit and working on my hair and make-up.  I would leave my house nervous and excited.  I always had the same thought while driving to the location: he was going to be The One.  I had to be perfect because the date was going to be perfect.  I would tell myself "this date is going to lead to my big romance and someday, when we tell our story, it has to be magical."  There was also energy calling those same friends to report on the date and even more energy figuring out why things just didn't work out. 

I've written about a ton of first dates on this blog, and none of them were worth the energy I put into them.  At best, most of them were mediocre and at worst, they involved beer cans in the shower and drug deals during the date.  I was a serial dater and I've gone on lunch dates, dinner dates, met up for dozens of drinks and even karaoke.  I've had guys make me dinner, take me dancing and one very creative soul took me on a hike.  For each date, I spent hours upon hours and phenomenal amounts of energy building up what, in my mind, was going to be a profound and life changing experience.

I had to learn the hard way that the sole purpose of a first date is to find out if we should go on a second date.  In retrospect, I treated each first date like a make or break situation because I was deathly afraid that I wouldn't get another chance to find someone and fall in love.  I treated each first date like my last chance at love.  I never realized that there was a chance that I wouldn't like the person or he wouldn't be a good fit; I treated these guys like they were doing me a favor by going out with me.  I had every expectation that these men were going to rescue me and make me happy.

Random board I came across 

Recently, I wrote about the way expectations only set us up for disappointment.  I used to  imagine what my relationship with the person was going to be like - even before the first date.  Would he fit in with my family and friends?  Would we write our own wedding vows or stick with tradition?  Would we be able to work through any differences we had (for the sake of our hypothetical future children, of course)?   Would he be my knight in shining armor?  Even when I was on strike, I secretly hoped I would find the person who would magically erase every fear, doubt and past hurt.

Spoiler alert: he doesn't exist.  Good partners do, however. 

I met someone in December on a fluke.  A few weeks earlier, I signed up for an online dating service one night when I was baby-sitting my godson who went to sleep at 7.  I was in serious danger of calling the October Break-Up.  Because of the toxic nature of our relationship, I didn't trust myself nor did I feel like I had enough self-control to leave him alone, so I figured I would sign up and entertain myself with the ridiculous messages that would be sent.  The trick worked and after that night, I sort of forgot about the dating site.  

One night, I received a new message on the same site.  I read his message and before I replied I looked at his dating profile.  What he wrote about himself made me laugh so I replied.  We sent messages back and forth for about an hour and the whole time I was laughing.  Communication flowed easily, but I'm no fool - I know that written communication has a completely different dynamic from "in-person" conservation.  Either way, he was fun to "talk" with.  The next day he sent another message and we agreed to meet up that night at my favorite brewery.  We weren't going to meet until I finished teaching a writing workshop and he got out of work.  

After my workshop, I went home to freshen up and didn't even change my outfit (I looked decent enough).  I didn't think much about meeting up and had zero expectations.  I wasn't really nervous when I was driving to the brewery and I even showed up a little late.  I walked in and saw a guy sitting at the bar who sort of looked like the photos from the dating site.  Sure enough, it was him and when we shook hands, I didn't feel the spark and fireworks weren't going off in my head.  I didn't have that fluttery feeling in my stomach and I didn't have visions of us falling in love.  We talked over a few beers and he made me laugh, but I wasn't particularly impressed by our conversation and I didn't feel the spiritual connection I often crave on first dates.  When it was time to go, he walked me to my car and gave me a hug.  That was all - no magical kiss, no goofy grin on my face and I definitely wasn't planning our wedding or imagining our future children.  

He sent me an email that night thanking me for meeting up and while I thought it was a sweet gesture, I still didn't have many feelings either way.  He asked if we could meet up again so I agreed to lunch the following Monday - mainly because I was going to be swamped the entire week and that was where my energy was at: work.  I wasn't worried that he couldn't deal with my busy life, and I didn't think twice about the fact that I didn't have time for him.  I didn't worry that he was my last chance at love because I didn't have any expectations.  He was just a nice guy that I was having lunch with.  

That nice guy turned out to be everything I never knew I was looking for.  

On paper, he and I have zero in common.  We come from different ethnic backgrounds; he is from the wetlands of the Pacific Northwest and I am from the desert; he is apolitical and I live, breathe and eat politics; we don't watch the same type of movies nor do we read the same types of books (but he does read!).  In all reality, he is nowhere close to being Peter Baca, which is a blessing because he is real.  As I got to know him, I learned a few things about him: he is a hard worker; his friends genuinely love him and care for him and he is easy to talk to.  He cares about my well-being, and he truly sees me for who I am.  I have found that he is incredibly compassionate, strong and a support system I didn't know I needed.  He isn't here to magically save me, but he is here to cheer me on as I walk my path, just as I do for him.  

Last October, I stood in the Alameda Bay and asked Creator to send me someone good.  The next day, I made a wish on the morning star at Alcatraz Island and asked to be lead to the one I was waiting for.  I didn't put any restrictions on who he would be; I just asked for him.  I finally surrendered to the fact that I can't control who comes into my life, and I can't build my perfect partner.  All I could do was be open and ready for him.  

The first date led to a lunch date.  The lunch date made me want to know him a little better.   About a week later we were having late-night pie at Village Inn and talking for 4 hours straight.  When he walked me to my car, I wanted to kiss him, but somehow a first kiss in the parking lot of an all night restaurant didn't feel right.  I've had plenty of first kisses and some have been great, others have been ridiculous and a lot of them have been in parking lots, but I felt different about him.  I wanted a magical, first kiss because it would be a good story to tell one day, and it is... but more about that later. 

Next time: Falling Gracefully 

End of the Year... Or, The Importance of Being Important

"Don't give in.  It's not just about power, it's about self respect.  You know that you have come too far and you don't deserve drama and power plays..." 

As a means of self-preservation and protection, my writing has become almost clinical because I have to be guarded and protect myself.  My writing feels fragmented because I haven't been writing.  I'm out of practice, but the only way to get back to writing is to start somewhere.  It's time to exorcise these pesky demons, but I find that I can't write details because I don't have the energy to write about someone who is, well, a bad person for me.

I have written and re-written this blog post several times over and it never seems to get past a few paragraphs.  I have been trying to write about a break-up that happened in October and as I would begin writing the details, I felt like I was writing the same story all over again: Andrea meets _______, they date, she realizes he's emotionally unavailable, the break up, she writes a blog about it, citing the same pithy musings that "he wasn't my person" and the ever diplomatic "it just wasn't our time."

In all reality, the guy was an asshole.  He is an egomaniac and does anything he can to draw attention to himself, and I allowed myself to get sucked into his games.  Luckily, I got out before too much time was invested - but enough time and energy were put in that when we broke up, I felt myself in an odd space.  I wasn't heartbroken or sad, but I felt the void of the break up.  Worse, because of his need to have my attention, he kept calling, I kept answering and we kept hanging out.  I had to take a moment to breathe and definitely had to enlist the help of friends to keep me from running back to a situation that was slowly sucking out my soul.  I have had trouble writing this blog because even writing the details of our relationship and subsequent break-up just feel like I'm giving him way more of myself than he deserves.

Don't give in 

I have realized that I tend to pick men who fall on a spectrum of unavailability.  There are the men who are benign - F. and Randy are good examples - and don't do too much damage to my spirit.  Guys like F. are decent men, they're just not emotionally available (and in all fairness, they're usually honest about this from the beginning but we still decide to take a ride toward the train wreck anyway).  Way on the other end of the spectrum, we have men like the latest break-up who are not only emotionally unavailable but are just down right black holes that suck the energy out of any room they walk into and continue to suck more.  I want to be clear that I am a smart woman who has done a ton of emotional work and I STILL got sucked in.  Manipulation is a powerful weapon and the latest break-up is the master of it.  He knew how to pick out my deepest insecurities and then exploited them.  I'm not going to try and figure out why - that is something he would have to answer - but I don't think I could have broken the ugly cycle had it not been for a lot of work and the strength of my friends.

The quote that I opened this blog with is a text from my good friend B. who had to talk me down one night because the latest break-up was sending texts telling me how much he missed me, how much he wanted to spend time with me and couldn't we please just hang out, just one time?  Although I didn't even like being around him, I found myself wanting to reply because I get a high when someone who treated me badly "regrets" his behavior and wants to make up for his behavior.  Toxic men like him are a drug and the night he was sending texts, I was itching for a fix.  I felt validated that he missed me.  Never mind that he was drunk when he was doing so.  I didn't care that he was seeing another woman (and I'm almost positive that he started seeing her when we were still seeing each other).  It didn't matter that all he was looking for was my attention.  I wanted to reply because I have an insatiable need to feel important and validated - even if it's a lie.

There was a small voice inside of me begging me not to reply.  It was trying to remind me that it was a bad idea to give in and that was when I sent a text to my friends.  It was simple - all I wrote was "Help!  I need an intervention!"  B. replied  right away and talked me back from the ledge, but I stayed dangerously close to the edge, watching dirt and pebbles fall into the vast of nothingness.

I didn't reply to his texts that night, but I had to fight tooth and nail to stop myself from doing so.

It's about self-respect

I would love to report that I never gave in again, but I did - several times, in fact.  One night, he was supposed to attend a poetry reading I performed at and he totally blew me off.  As I expected, he called the next morning to see how the show went.  He apologized for not going - casually mentioning he forgot because he was hanging out with the woman he was dating.  Yes, dear reader, I was aware that he was playing classic mind games with me, but I was too far gone to care.   The mention of her name sent me over the edge and we began arguing.   While we were arguing over the phone, I found  myself saying the word "important" over and over.  "I don't feel important to you... It's like I'm not even important to you...You make me feel un-important...I need to feel important."  As that word kept escaping my lips, my chest felt like someone was stepping on it.  I was crying and felt alone and desperate.  I was jumping out of my skin and pacing around the house.  I passed by a mirror and saw puffy red eyes and tear stained cheeks and I felt so sad for the girl in the mirror because she looked so small and scared and miserable.  We hung up shortly thereafter and I cried until I was hiccuping and couldn't catch my breath.

Why was I crying so hard for someone I couldn't even stand?  It's taken some time, but I realized that while I don't like him as a person, he triggered the deepest and smallest parts of me that feel unimportant, and all I wanted was to be important to him, regardless of the fact that his opinion of me is insignificant because he is insignificant.

That afternoon, I ran into a friend who asked how I was doing.  The funny thing is, she isn't someone I consider a close friend.  We've always gotten along but we don't spend much time together or even talk very often.  I opened my mouth and told her everything that was going on with him.  She turned out to be a huge blessing who said - "you have to cut him off.  You have to get rid of him.  He is toxic.  Stop."  I sent him a text asking for space - I wasn't ready to completely cut him off - and changed his name in my phone to DO NOT ANSWER THIS IS A BAD IDEA.  I avoided his phone calls and tried not to answer his texts.

You know that you have come too far

I replied to a few texts because I had become an addict, but the high I got from hearing that he missed me began to wear off.  His texts became an annoyance, and eventually they struck me as pathetic.  With some work, reminders from friends and family and a lot of being talked back from the edge, I was able to stop replying and eventually un-friended him from Facebook and cut him out of my life because what my friend said is true - I have come too far and worked too hard to allow anyone to take my spirit.  That's the funny thing about self-work and "knowing better" - once there is self-realization, there is no way one can go back to being treated badly - or allowing toxic people in one's life.

Being that it's New Year's Eve, I reflect on the past year and where I was a year ago: in a relationship with F., unemployed with a bad back and not able to find joy in very much.  Here we are, a whole year later and F. and I are friends... not close friends, but friends nonetheless.  I have a job that I absolutely love and I have back pain at times, but I just feel better overall.  I am solid in who I am.  Through my relationship with F., I learned that I have an incredible capacity to love and even when we broke up, I continued to be open and have tried to keep love at my center.  There are time when I've gotten off my path, but for the most part, I am unafraid of loving someone.

I found something scarier, however.  Allowing myself to be loved is a terrifying thought now that it has presented itself to me.  Will I learn to open up to being loved in 2013?  Will I allow happiness to manifest in the most unexpected form I've ever known?  Will I be important to myself and be important to someone else?  Stay tuned, dear reader, and we'll find out together...

Happy New Year!

Next Time: My Mom Walked A Picket Line 

Goodbye, Peter Baca... Or, Part Three

This is a continuation of parts one and two.

I keep telling myself that it's time to break up with Peter Baca, yet I can't quite bring myself to say goodbye.

For those of you who haven't been following along, Peter Baca aka Perfect Boyfriend is a figment of my imagination that I conjured up after yet another break-up a few years ago.  At first, Peter Baca was a tool I used to stop myself from jumping into a rebound relationship - I would see a guy and immediately think "he's no Peter Baca."  That way, I wouldn't get involved with a man because I had someone who was perfect.  At some point along the way, Peter Baca became the standard bearer of what I want in a man and because I created him, he's my perfect match.

I wrote last year that I needed to pare down my Peter Baca list.  While I tried to shrink my list down to very fundamental traits, such as someone who truly cares about the world around him, my expectations still quietly existed, and any semblance of traits that were on my Peter Baca list told me yes!  This is it!  This is him!   Unfortunately, for every "perfect" trait, there is a counter-trait - some sort of behavior that is less than desirable.  Because I was so focused on what was good about the person, I wasn't allowing myself to see what was wrong with the relationship.  This has been the case with most of the guys I've dated in the last few years including F. and the most recent person I dated (more about him next week).  Because they had traits that are genuinely good, I wouldn't allow myself to see that a relationship with any of these guys was a bad idea.  As long as a few of my expectations were being met, I figured everything else would just fall into place.  As long as I loved and held on and pushed and believed and focused on being happy and envisioning our life together, then everything else would work out.

I couldn't see the forest because I was too busy carving our initials on the trees.

My expectations are often rooted in ideas that seem perfectly sane - I want a partner who is supportive and intelligent.  A good person who understands and accepts me and all my quirks and imperfections.  I should stop there but then I begin adding to the list - loves good music, appreciates art -oh, no, wait, he should be an artist!  He has to love good craft beer.  He has to be able to carry on a conversation with my guy friends as well as my girl friends and he has to fit with  my family.  He loves good pizza and movies.  The sex should be amazing.  He has to be the perfect combination of manliness and sensitivity and be a feminist ally.  Before I know it, I have a list of impossible expectations and no partner to meet them.

In my mind, expectations are a good thing.  I have convinced myself that having high expectations means I won't settle.  Unfortunately, I have confused expectations with boundaries.  The importance of boundaries is this: there is a line that cannot be crossed and if it is, I will walk away without a second look.  I've been so focused on having my perfect expectations met that I let my boundaries slide.  For example:

Boundary:  I will not date someone who says he isn't ready for a relationship and is trying to "find" himself. 

Expectation: He has such beautiful views on the Universe and the spirituality that brings us together.  That is exactly something Peter Baca would say.  He also understands that because he's on his path that it will take longer for us to develop a real relationship.

See the difference?  An expectation I have is that my potential mate is in tune with the Universe - which is nice, but when I get caught up in the rhetoric, I miss the fact that my boundaries are being crossed.  Granted, he probably isn't crossing them on purpose - they're my boundaries therefore I am in charge of maintaining them.  I know what I want and I know what I have to do: stop, cut the shit.

The danger of a list of perfect expectations is that I have set my relationships up to fail - and when they do, I get sucked back into the ugly cycle of heartbreak, reflection, anger, all the while blogging about it and running to the safety of Peter Baca.  I remind myself that "he" is NOTHING like Peter Baca and therefore was a waste of my time.  I'm reassured and even justified that he just wasn't my person and I begin the cycle all over again - all the while never setting boundaries.

While I'm in a much better place than I was two years ago, I feel like I've regressed a little bit lately.  I've forgotten about a lot of the important work I've done and I began floating along again, just waiting to be scooped up and loved by whoever.  Last week, some friends and I laughed over my most recent break-up but they also brought up an important point - what the hell am I doing?  If I know it's a bad idea to be with someone - if I see the signs from the get-go, then why am I wasting my time?  Why do I keep allowing myself to repeat the same cycles over and over again?

There isn't one, easy answer, and while I know why I allow my boundaries to be crossed, I'm not ready to share some of those answers - it's hard enough admitting them to myself.  Knowing and acting are two different things, however, and I often find myself not wanting to act.  It's easier to live in the fantasy of Peter Baca (and the disappointment of men who don't live up to him) rather than take responsibility for my happiness.  It's easier to be the victim of bad relationships than to be strong enough to avoid them altogether.

The beauty of all these lessons, however, is that every day is a new chance to practice having boundaries and love myself more than the idea of a fictitious boyfriend who is the result of a relationship I should have never even been in anyway.  It's time, and as scary as it is, I have to say it:

Goodbye, Peter Baca, and thank you.


Next time: The Importance of Being Important

A Big Sigh of Relief

You're welcome, Mr. President.

We Weren't Supposed To Be There... Or, Thoughts On My Vote

Author's note: This week's regular program, Goodbye, Peter Baca, is interrupted to bring you this message about voting (which started out as a Facebook status update and morphed into this week's blog). We will resume regular programming next week.  

On a cold winter morning in January, 2009, a Black man was inaugurated as the 44th President of the United States.

I was there when he was sworn in.

It was a rash decision and a stroke of luck that landed me at the Inauguration.  A few days after Barack Obama was elected, I was still riding the high of his victory.  My friend from California and I were on the phone and he suggested we meet up for the Inauguration.  Without thinking, researching or knowing whether or not I would even have a place to stay, I booked a flight to DC.  As weeks passed by, I did some more research and found that:

a. I needed to write to my congressman to get tickets to the event and
b. there were no hotel rooms.  Anywhere.

Had I given myself more time to think about it, I wouldn't have bought a plane ticket.  I would have convinced myself that it was an exercise in futility to even try to go and I would have stayed in Albuquerque where it was warmer and watched the Inauguration on TV, where I could see everything and hear the President's speech.

I am forever grateful for my brief moment of impulsiveness because not only did I get a ticket to the Inauguration, but I found a place to stay (my friend A. was there for a conference and I spent a few nights in her hotel room in Baltimore.  My friend from California wasn't able to go).  I spent time with her and her son and we planned on going to the Inauguration together but that morning, as soon as we got onto the grounds we got separated and I never found her.  I was alone among 1.8 million people.

I faced a kind of cold I had never experienced.  The weather turns cold in New Mexico, but it's a dry cold.  The damp cold in DC encased me and then dug itself right into my bones.  I didn't have anything to eat or drink because bathrooms weren't exactly accessible and I didn't want to risk needing to go.  I was packed in tightly with other people and I could barely see the top of the Capitol building.  My cell phone didn't work because there were scramblers that intercepted signals.  I had a huge moment of doubt.  I couldn't see, I couldn't hear, I was freezing and I was alone.  I looked around and saw nothing but strangers.  No one was familiar.  There were cheers at various times, and even some boos when George H.W. Bush was announced (the booers were scolded by some elder Black women, who said that wasn't what we were there for.  I was glad I didn't boo).  As time passed, I began to chat with the people around me.  We were excited, asking where each other came from and people were surprised I had traveled all the way from New Mexico.

Suddenly, in a collective breath, a hush fell over the crowd and Barack Obama was sworn in.  I couldn't hear every word, but I was able to make out "so help me God" and a cheer erupted throughout the massive crowd.  People were hugging and a woman turned to me and said "congratulations" and I said it back to her as we hugged.  She had tears in her eyes and I suddenly understood the magnitude of being there for that moment.

Barack Obama wasn't supposed to be there.  We live in a country that never intended for Black people to be free, much less know how to read, much less be formally educated, much less Senator, much less President.  Slavery wasn't an experiment that didn't work and slaves simply freed, no harm, no foul.  We live in a country rooted in a belief that land, people and resources were - and are - simply objects to be conquered, colonized and owned.  Years after the Civil Rights Act was signed and Jim Crow laws were eradicated, an overwhelming majority of people elected a Black president and the racism that certain people held just under their breath became shouts and screams and they wanted their country back.

Note the capitol behind me.  I was really there! 

As a Chicana, I wasn't supposed to be at the Inauguration either.  Women weren't given the vote because Congress felt like it was the right thing to do - if that was the case, we would have had the vote from day one.  Women had to fight for the right to vote and women of color face even more barriers when it comes to having a voice in this country.  If this country was founded on "doing the right thing," then this country would not have been founded - not the way it was.  Land stolen from Indigenous people, slavery, violence, disease, oppression - any gains toward civil rights that have been made have been hard fought for and won by those willing to fight and risk their safety and even lives.  I don't put faith in politicians to create change; my hope is in the people.

Why vote, then?  I have been called a mindless sheep, I've been told I'm stupid for voting and that my voice doesn't count.  I have had so many disappointments from elected officials (including President Obama) that it often feels that my vote is useless.  After the Bush debacle of the 2000's, how could I not feel that way?  When it feels like I don't matter, why would I continue on?

I vote because I can.  I vote because so many people in power would rather I not vote.  I vote because I have very little in common with my dad, and there is very little we talk about, but when it comes to politics, I feel like we have an unspoken bond.  My dad made sure I registered to vote when I turned 18 and took me to vote for the very first time (I voted for Clinton in '96).

I vote because there are people who aren't allowed to vote and  my voice is an extension of their voice.  Because my grandmothers were both born years before women won the right to vote.  Because my mother walked a picket line when she was pregnant with me and because my dad held public office.   Because Chicanos/Latinos are the fastest growing group and there is power in our vote.  I am highly critical of this country, the policies and politicians who are in office, and I vote because I'll be damned if someone tells me not to.

I am voting for President Obama again.  I do not agree with everything he has done, but a Romney presidency will surely cause damage to an already fragile country.  My faith is in the people who fight for freedom in this country - community organizers, activists, poets, artists, grandmas, parents, children, musicians and yes, soldiers.  I am voting for Barack Obama because when Democrats are in office, our jobs are just a little bit easier (Mitt Romney has already vowed to slash Planned Parenthood, eliminate Obamacare and PBS, among many other social programs).

When the Inauguration ceremony ended, I began the trek with thousands of other people out of the National Mall.  I walked about four miles back to a friend's house.  When I was finally away from the scramblers, I received a message on my cell phone.  It was one of my older sisters.

"I am so proud that you are there," she said, "you're carrying all of us with you."

I was there, just as I was supposed to be.

Next week: Goodbye, Peter Baca 

Stop, Cut The Shit... Or, Part Two

When I was in the Bay Area, I had moments of feeling sad.

I was also feeling impatient and insecure.  For the last month I had been dating someone and things didn't feel right.  I liked him and we had lots of great connections, but he didn't feel like my person and I knew my trip to the Bay was going to give me the space to sort out my feelings.  Before my plane landed in Oakland I knew that the relationship wasn't going to last.  Throughout my trip, I felt myself feeling very sad sometimes, angry at others and very impatient most of the time.

(This isn't to say I had a miserable time while I was in Oakland, Alameda and San Francisco.  On the contrary, I had an amazing time and ate the best food of my life - but I digress).

The day before the Sunrise Ceremony, I sent a text message to my friend R. and told her how I was feeling.  After making me laugh by telling me to put someone in a headlock in order to feel better, she suggested I give my feelings to the water.  Luckily, my friend N. lives five minutes away from the beach in Alameda, so off to the water we went.

I walked along the shore and waited until I was alone to ask the question of the Universe (or Creator, or God - they are all one in the same to me) :

WHAT THE EFF DO YOU WANT FROM ME?  WHAT THE EFF AM I SUPPOSED TO LEARN? 

I was angry.  I often feel this way in the midst of a break-up.  I want to know why this person is sent into my life and what the hell am I supposed to do with the heartache?  A few years ago I realized that I was supposed to learn something from each of these people, but even that reasoning (which used to bring comfort) has gotten old.  I am so tired of breaking up with people and I wanted to know what the eff Creator wants from me.

Just stop I heard my own voice say.  Cut your shit.  My voice went on - quit getting with people who don't see you.  Quit hooking up for the sake of hooking up.  You don't need the attention.  Stop wasting your time.  

WHAT THE EFF?!  (Alameda Beach, CA) 

I'm not crazy and hearing voices, nor do I think the voice of God was coming through me.  I think that with the Bay folded out before me and all the space in the world, I finally had the freedom to say what I needed to hear.  The thought has been in me - and I've written it and the people close to me have said it over and over again, but in that moment, I finally heard it.  Cut the shit, quit wasting time.  Stop going out with someone just because he pays attention to me.  The minute I sense something isn't right, walk away.  Listen to my instincts and trust that I know what and who is best for me.

After my talk with myself, I stood in the same place for a very long time.  I wanted the water to touch my feet but I was not going to go toward it.  The waves were washing up gently and I stood perfectly still, waiting for the water to touch my feet.  I began to talk to the water, telling it that it was welcome to wash over my feet but I was not going to chase it; the water had to come to me.  Before long, I felt the cold bay water lapping at my toes and I smiled in relief.  It was in that moment that I knew my person would be coming to me.  I stopped feeling so angry and worried.  I found my way back to my center and  I remembered to believe in love.

I started walking along the shore again and I told Creator that I want a story with someone.  I want to meet him and fall in love and I want to tell that story to our babies, and our grand-babies.  I want partnership, and I want to be married.  I want us to chase our love passionately and when we catch it, I want us to chase more love.  I want to feel that intense, burning, YES YOU'RE THE ONE kind of feeling.   I'm ready, and when I'm ready, I need action to happen immediately.  I'm never one who eases into a decision; when I know, I just know.  It's like when one decides to quit smoking or to go back to church or make a big move and she knows she has to do it NOW.  I'm ready to be in love and be loved.  I'm not lonely or desperate and I don't feel like I'm drowning.  I am simply ready for my person.

I realize that I've been talking about my person for a long time now, but I always felt like I was just waiting on someone and if it happened, that was fine, but it was no big deal either way.  Now, I am sure and positive and ready.  I am ready for my person.

I had to learn to be single because I felt empty and alone and my bad choices were killing my spirit.  I not only learned how to be single but I love it and even learned to sleep in the middle of the bed.  I have had amazing experiences and have learned so much about myself, but now I want to share my life with someone.  I want to have lazy Sundays and go shopping for groceries together.  I want to have a busy day at work and not have time to see each other but steal a few moments to say goodnight over the phone.  I want to know that if I go away, I'll be missed and when I return, I'll be celebrated.  I want to do the same for him.  I am ready to share a bed... and a life.

I told Creator that I want a good man and just as I began to describe what that good man should look like, act like and be like, I stopped.

You already know what I mean by good, I said, can you just send him already?  

The morning of the Sunrise Ceremony, a Yaqui elder told us to make our love wishes on the morning star.   Lead me to the one I wait for, I wished, the one who waits for me.  For a long time now, I have said that my person is out there, going through his process to get to me.  I find a lot of joy in knowing that there is someone out there who is waiting to meet his person and his person is me.  Maybe we've already met and we're getting there.  Maybe we've passed each other a million times and we've never noticed each other or spoken.  Wherever he is, whatever he's doing, I know he's out there.

I am happily impatient.  I am waiting for the water to lap at my toes and to share the love that is overflowing in my heart.  I am waiting for my person.

To be continued...

Next time: Goodbye, Peter Baca