What Paris taught me: Part Cinq

There isn’t a part I-IV documented but after visiting Paris for the fifth time, it’s high time I put some je sais in that je ne sais quoi.

1. Paris isn’t just for lovers. And maybe I say this because this was my first time being there tout-seul. It’s for friends in wine bars, groups of youths having an espresso after school, students who conglomerate in ex-pat cafes typing away at their laptops, families, and in my most recent experience, runners. Yes, they’ve got them all.
2. Lovers, you’re welcome, too, just so we’re clear. I mean Paris is kind of your thing. European lovers are different – perhaps they’re not more in love but they express their love more openly. We may call it public displays of affection but it seems almost an American thing to even give open love a title. My dad once told me that I love in a European kind of way and having seen it, I know how deep of a compliment it is and I want to keep that forever.
3. Contrary to popular belief, French people are not mean, snobs or dismissive. The Golden Rule applies here – treat them how you want to be treated. In their own language and with a subtle smile on your face, though. Not too big. There that’s it. Now purse your lips. Nailed it.
   Case in point: Montmartre Mikael – a guy in his mid-30s with plugs in his ears and the most smiley eyes who works at one of those gift shops you can find something for everyone. A store full of clever-designed products with a witty twist to their practical use. If I were reincarnated as a product, I’d absolutely want to come back as the strap-on massager you can attach to any chair. Mikael proceeded to let me have the massage chair while exclaiming BONJOUR! at every customer that came in. He’s the best, and Paris is less grey with him in it.
   For the skeptical: Bitchy British Airways Beatrice at CDG who is a part of the baggage-frame-fitting police force and has it out for me. She’s not fun. I pretty much felt like this. Watch the whole video for the full experience.
4. French people are helpful. They will tie your shoe when your hands are too cold 8 km into a 21 km race. And they’ll do a double-knot upon request. Tied Tried and true.
5. The French can rock stripes like no body’s bidniss. It’s a thing. And they do it so well.
6. Applying lipstick every day seems totally natural. In fact, when I didn’t wear it one day, I felt severely under-dressed. No, it wasn’t the trainers and sweater or even the top-knot. It was the bare lips.
7. Dinner service begins at sept heure et demi. No Open Table rezzies for 5:00 pm here. Non, Monsieur.
8. Spend longer looking at art in museums. Think you’ve stared at a paiting long enough? Stare longer. Culture, baby. Culture.
9. The French may not hit on you directly, but that’s what the Italian’s are for. You can take the man out of Italy but you can’t take the Italy out of the man. And all I wanted were some marinated Romano artichokes, not a phone number and 20 questions about mon (non-existent) copain.
10. The bread really is that much better. I doubted it too, naive moi. Mais, non! C’est super! Seriously though, it’s pillowy, crusty crack.
11. La Fleuriste was one of the most gratifying visits. So nice, I went twice. It went something like this, but with freesia.
12. Paris is the only city that is exactly how I imagine it. It’s the stuff dreams are made of. It’s magical in its invigorating ivory and elegant iron glory. It’s kind of a big deal.

I’m turning 30 this week! (Yes, I backspaced a period and replaced it with an exclamation mark. It was the right thing to do.)

This week I’ve already messed-up freshly manicured nails on a micro-plane mincing ginger to make a turmeric latte. If that’s not a predecessor to a fancy, frivolous, fabulous decade, I don’t know what is.

I know a little more about Paris but what I really know a lot more about is myself. The 20s were a time to learn about who I am and creating that through some of the best and hardest years yet. The 30s are for settling in. Settling in to me. Spending a considerable time with myself on my recent trip to London and Paris, I’m really good at being me and there’s a lot more of me to be.

Dirty, flirty whatever-you-are thirty. I’m ready for you.

There comes a time in every adult woman’s life where she wants to cry in a bathroom stall for no other reason than things were going so well until they weren’t. Last week I had one of those days. It ended, as all bad days do. But not before staying at work an extra two hours when you had a show to go to and spilling mustard on a pair of your nicest pants.

Mustard happens. But so do days like this. It wasn’t until I got out of the bathroom stall that I had a little heart-to-heart with myself. Time to re-frame. It wasn’t a bad day. In fact, it was actually very productive. Busy as hell and though I had to miss out on spin class for a half-hour-meeting-turned-two, I managed to meet my deadlines, run a few miles a minute and half faster than my average pace, shower and pull myself together for a much-needed and highly anticipated comedy show with one of my favorite people.

This is when I step out of my own way.

Sitting in a cafe 27 minutes before closing, sipping an Americano with splash of warm milk and topped with cinnamon and a couple squares of 88% dark chocolate, it is decided that shit happens and then the shit clears. Sometimes you just get so tired about worrying about the little stuff that the big picture become overwhelmingly beautiful and the little stuff just falls away, even if just for the time being. Being tired can also be fixed by said Americano. Works like a charm.

Jack Kerouac said…

Be in love with your life. Every minute of it.

…and I have to give the man a slow clap for this one (among many other things too but especially this). What does it take to be in love with every moment of life?

After a very much needed, slow and deep yoga practice yesterday (you know when you’re super bummed your sweaty vinyasa class has a sub and you miss getting your glisten on? That wasn’t the case. I was stoked for a sub.) I felt that pure post -savasana bliss. I walked around Whole Foods in a yogic (that’s a word) haze, mindfully reaching for that perfectly-ripe-in-two-days avocado and gracefully accepting the price tag of my kombuca. It’s amazing and disheartening how something so welcomed into my perception – this lightness – can be gone after such a seemingly insignificant occurrence. I get uprooted, I loose my cool, something small becomes big and then I have to work diligently to get back to my bliss, my namaste, my big-picture-it’s-all-good feels.

Ways to not cry over spilled milk/mustard/kombuca/ayurvedic tea:

1. Take in the situation. Okay, so that happened. Could it have been prevented? Maybe, but it still happened and it’s done.
2. Take care of yourself. What can you do to offer yourself a little self-care in this situation? Do you need to clean up a mess, communicate an emotional reaction to the situation at hand, set things down and take a step back, take a breath? Find what you need and do that. If you’re like me, you may not know instantly. Address the not knowing, say out loud I don’t know and come back to it later. It’ll be there for you, I promise.
3. Give yourself a little nod. I find this helps as if you’re telling yourself, I’m okay, that’s okay, we’re okay.  Acceptance, baby.
4. See this moment as a collection of the whole. Life doesn’t hang on one moment but a bunch of them. There are great ones and there are ones that suck. Can this be a stroke in painting? Can that stroke add to the work of art? Do you need to get a new canvas? I hear they’re 2-for-1 at Blick’s.
5. Find the space to acknowledge what came up for you in that moment of carnage spillage. Most importantly, let whatever it is be okay. I find it helpful to speak my truth just to myself. Speak honestly and let it be real, raw, freaking terrifying or just plain silly. Say it out loud or write it down.
6. Come back. When the storm has settled, return to the moment with clarity. Forgive yourself without judgement knowing you know yourself a little bit better.

I’m working on these general steps. Baby as they may seem, there’s a lot here – chock-full of fun. Awareness, acceptance, acknowledgement, and other things that start with A. I’ve come face-to-face with a lot of little things turned explosive and it’s caused me to take a step back and evaluate what’s really going on. The trick here is to not get caught up on the details but focus on the thing that made your intuition say what up? Go there. Listen. Act. Most importantly, love.

I’m right there with you. We got this.

2016 ended exactly as it should. A vicious cold stopped me cold in my tracks and made me slow down – something I can’t say I really did the other 51 weeks of the year. The usual guilt and frustration crept in but I was fortunate to still surround myself with friends who let this be okay – understand when I couldn’t make it until midnight on New Years Eve, make me tea, text to check-in and basically give me the permission to not be okay – something I have a hard time doing myself.

2017 is looking pretty damn good and starting in a way that makes evaluate self-talk, self-care, slowing down, listening to my body, the value of my friendships and understand what I need in a given moment and being flexible when the moment looks different that I pictured.

At 00:00 (yes, I operate in military time – a combination of living in the UK and having a VW Beetle that was stuck in this time format) I killed a spider.

I didn’t plan it this way. I jumped out of a hot shower and peer over my shoulder to find an unwanted house guest in the new year. Smash. I glance at the time while toweling off quickly hoping to catch some illegal fireworks or pots and pans clanging on the street but it’s already midnight and the first thing I did was kill an eight-limbed creature. Bravery in the New Year? I’ll go with it.

I’ve been really into the show Casual lately. It’s about three very dysfunctional people and their journeys in life, love and family. Alex’s advice to his sister on managing her social obligations is to “Double book, then choose the most fun thing.” I tend to over-book myself so when it comes time to choosing one, I am usually faced with giving the less-desireable option a wishy-washy RSVP, cancel, or give a yes with the intention of changing it later. None of which I’m proud of.
New year intention  No more of that. Whatever the choice may be, I will choose. I will also communicate honestly, with notice, and without guilt. I will trust that the person I am responding to is mature enough to handle a big-girl response and I’ll feel good about honoring myself.

I’ve had to come face to face with where I’m at with love. Though my heart is still healing, I grow more honest with myself about what I want and what I most value. With family, love has also had to look different. The unconditional kind of love exists here that knows no boundaries nor expectations. I’m lucky to have the best friends that offer their time, ears, hearts and belly laughs. 
New year intention  Be open to love in all its forms – family, friends, lovers. I will do my best to honor my past, but not let it dictate my future and how current or new relationships should look. Be open to things looking different, new and the unexpected. Welcome in new perspectives.

I walked into a Lululemon store to treat myself to some new active-wear. An sales associate who is always eager and willing to explain the different support structures in their athletic bras started a fitting room for me. When I headed back there, two sales associates dressed in athleisure vests and some kind of make-my-ass-look-phenom leggings glanced at me and asked “You’re not, J, are you?” Sure am. And one sales associate pointed to a door with a white-board covered in silly faces surrounding my name.
New year intention   Make eye contact, connect with people, know that it matters. Never under-estimate the value of small connections. These can be invaluable and simply make your day.

I wore sequined pants to a dinner party on New Years Day. It felt great to get a little glammed up for a perfectly wonderful evening of friends gathered on sofas, laughing, touching your pants.
New year intention   Wear more sequins. Okay, maybe  not sequins exactly but wear those things hanging at the end of the closet bar more often. Wear those high heels, those over-the-top earrings, that fuchisa lipstick – on Wednesday. Because I can, becuase it’s fun, because if I treat those novelties in my closet like I did good kitchen knives (wait ’til you move into the city, wait ’til you get your own place, wait ’til you get marr…you get the idea), I won’t get to appreciate them now. And now is all we have. Sequins just got real.

I received some very constructive (at the time I would have called it upsetting or bad) feedback from work several months ago. In the months that followed I finally zipped my ego’s lip and applied the feedback. It’s been amazing to see my professional and personal growth in my role and how I was able to embrace this feedback and not look at it as criticism. It has made me stronger.
New year intention   Everything can be a teacher if you let it. Something I have been learning in my long-term love affair with yoga and why I continue to practice. Things come up in our life and good or bad, they teach us something great or small.

Theodore Roosevelt said Comparison is the thief of joy. I’m competitive in a healthy way but compare in an unhealthy way. I think comparison is a hard thing to work on – I have yet to find a mantra that resonates to bring me back to focusing inward instead of outward.
New year intention  Find the self-love and care I need in a moment where I notice the focus shift outward where it doesn’t serve. Do everything in my power to do what I can with what is in front of me. Cheer on others, share in their joy, and know I am exactly where I am supposed to be. This is my unique journey. I will focus more this year on developing a meditation practice and continue yoga.

2016 was a year to focus on lightness – finding ease in whatever came my way.

2017 is going to be about choosing joy and love, every moment. Lightness will very much be the very thing that illuminates my path, but the focus will be shifted to choice and to actively go in the direction that will bring joy.

I will say this. Minute one of 2017, I killed a spider and I liked it. That right there, was a tiny bit of joy.

Universal Lesson: The Universe will always conspire to lead you toward solutions of the highest good when you open up to receive them.

So here I go walking around San Francisco, manifesting. With an upturned corner of my lip and lowered eyebrows. Peering through my upper lashes wondering, why the hell I’m not attracting the right one? Hi my name is J (Hiiii, J) and I’ve been dating-app-sober for four weeks. Mean-muggin’ errrr’ day.

I’m reading a book called The Universe Has Your Back by Gabby Bernstein (above quote). As the book title implies, the Universe had my back and came at a great time. I’ve been feeling kind of meh in all departments of life – having not had the best week coupled with the uncertainty that comes with living in the same city for seven years, I’m starting to wonder if it’s time to wander.

The big question I keep coming back to is am I running toward or running from? Is me wondering what’s next a progressive next step in my life to keep pushing forward, find a new adventure, mix things up and create new? Or is it running from the familiar and even some pain? Is a routine, a life, a solid group of friends and a great home something to really up-and-leave?

Alright, I’ll stop with the rhetorical questions. When my mind is spinning and processing, there really is only one solution. Call mom. And then watch this (Spoiler Alert: Hedgehogs always win. Always.) And trust me, I’m a tough case to crack when I’m a mood.

So it goes something like this:
Me: What the f*ck, Universe – why aren’t things happening? Can I move to France already?
Universe: Guuurrl, you got some work to do…
Me: What do you mean?! I’m tooottally approachable. These assholes just don’t have the balls to come and ask me out.
Universe: Check yo’self before your wreck yo’self, J – you’ve got to put out there what you want to get back. Step into the person you want to be, every single moment, and choose joy and love over fear.
Me: When did you get to be so smart?

I’ve been hurt. By elementary school friends, college friends, adult relationships. I grow fearful that the issue is me – that there’s something that just not enough for those people in my life to have decided that I didn’t get to come along for the ride. Maybe I haven’t fully recovered from that and it doesn’t seem to help my healing when it seems to only happen again.

As Gabby discusses, we do things either out of fear or love. But what if I am fearful of love?

I won’t start talking of walls being built as that’s a sore subject right now (don’t even get me started) but I’m really working to break down these walls and choose joy and love over fear. It’s an active choice and commitment to myself and my way of being every single day and I’m starting with a daily five-minute meditation. So there’s my accountability plug.

Real talk, life is good. And when I’m not PMSing, it’s even fantastic. Fast-approaching 30, shit is gettin’ real and I’m a bit scared, sad, excited. I’m scared that I won’t find a partner to share my life with, I’m sad that I thought I had it and it didn’t work, and I’m super excited for the possibility. I just need to be in that excitement more. Back to the book, I need to change the language around what I want for my life. Talk about it as if it’s moments away from happening. Speak to myself and others with compassion by being fully present and saying yes to new adventures and the ones that I get to be apart of every single day.

And hedgehogs. More and more hedgehogs.

I’d like you all to meet my new boyfriend. He wears a nice tweed jacket and pants rolled up to show off his laced up oxfords. He has a bit of scruff that works nicely off of his dark curls. His cappuccino cup reads “Carlo” and he peeks inside his pastry bag alongside the Business Insider portion of the Wall Street Journal. Okay, truth: this was really the man sitting next to me the other day at my coffee shop. Lie: he’s not my boyfriend. But I could really use one, like, now.

It was inevitable, I suppose – seeing my ex in a relationship with someone else. Could anything really have prepared me for that moment? Probably not. Some time has passed now and I’m doing alright. I took a couple self-care days, cooked nourishing meals for the body and said yes to social events that would nourish my soul too. I won’t lie, I had some retail therapy as well thanks to an Athleta catalog and a post-brunch impromptu shoe store stop. What it really came down to though was some QT with my cuties. Reaching out to friends, chatting, laughing, feeling my strength from those who help hold me up.

Another really good friend of mine had an all day birthday bonfire recently. I settled into the sand and the birthday boy came right up and sat next to me. He said “you’re in your happy place, aren’t you?” He couldn’t have been more right. I was, one, elated that he could see what I felt, two, elated at being elated, three, excited he was sharing the elatedness with me. So that’s how I ground these days and I hope forever.

By surrounding myself with good people, good energy and the goodness of connection and the human experience, I feel, well, good.

This same friend hosted a dinner party this week. He brought together twelve-ish people into one San Francisco apartment kitchen, poured them wine (made sure said glass was always full without mixing wines – now that’s a good host) and cooked them an incredible dinner. I can only hope the other eleven people in the room felt what I felt.

The great thing about dinner parties is not just the good food, wine and company but watching each person shine in their unique beauty, and getting to witness your own. At least for me – this is place I can fully be myself. Take the mic for a hot second (usually to unapologetically embarrass myself) and then sit back into the couch, shoulder to shoulder with a new or old friend, and hear someone else’s story, joke, honesty, raw authenticity.

The sad party for me is when that first person calls it. People trickle after that but maybe it’s perfect like that. It preserves a night as it is – until the next one.

This same friend would have placed a bookmark in my stream of consciousness here before my above tangent. Not to worry, I’m circling back. This week I felt vulnerable. My vulnerability made me feel more sensitive at work, sensitive socially and I reacted instead of calling myself out and being real with what I was feeling and letting that truly be okay. Fighting it put me on the defense in other areas of my life where I usually feel my strength.

Weakness can’t have me when I’m laughing, when I’m with the best people, when I’m me in my happy place. That’s not say i’m ignoring my hurt, my vulnerability, my sadness. It’s just that I’m in the company of all of those not so fun emotions and choosing to see the good that surrounds me. It surrounds me at dinner parties, surrounds me now as I watch a Justin Timberlake Live show onNetflix while it’s pouring rain outside, surrounds me every single moment.

I choose to be in my happy place, now. I know that another day, another moment, it may be harder to choose that but I can create memories to come back to. That way I can drop into that feeling of wholeness, remember me at my happy and in effect, create a dinner party for myself. Party of twelve, party of one, it’s still a party.

I’m sitting in the same University of California, Berkeley Student Union that I nervously gathered in as a senior in High School. Today, I am managing a furniture installation. Then, I was representing China at the Model United Nations Conference and I was the age of the student I’m now sharing a table with. That’s fine, I don’t feel old or anything…

What’s amazing and maybe not so surprising is that I’ve been wildly productive on campus today. I have been able to get a ton of work done and attend to some outstanding personal matters via email. Maybe it’s the glow of the Apple icons all around me or the Nitro Cold Brew (wtf?!) that I’m too-rapidly sipping away at. As the student behind the Equator Coffee bar said, “It’s like a Guinness”. Thanks college kid. You would know.

The student in me wants to stay here forever – bypass the Trump booth and head right into the coffee culture of downtown Berkeley. The San Francisco dweller in me wants to go to Alice Water’s Chez Panisse and treat myself to the tasting menu – just to make me feel cool in my adultness.

Then there’s the 18-year old me. Who won a gavel at a national MUN conference with her partner and mad-crush at the time. The 27-year old me also walked these parts – with my ex, going to meet his cousin for dinner off of Shattuck. This was the me now madly in love but knowing it couldn’t be forever. A mixture of emotions as I sit here 11 years and 2 years later respectively. The lessons I’ve since learned reverberate down tree-lined streets I never spent more than a long weekend in. What it feels like to be in love. What unrequited love feels like. Mutual, whole-hearted, passionate love. And the hardest lesson of all – what it feels like when love isn’t enough.

It also brings up feelings about doubt, fear, second-guessing. Even as I write this I wonder did I really know what was best for me at age 18? But how do we ever really know what’s best for us in the moment? All we can do is make the best decision we can in the moment, with what we are given, and what we know. At age 18, I wanted to be a graphic designer. This influenced my college application and the school I chose to go to. At age 18, that was enough – it had to be. For the good part of my first year at school  – I questioned if I had made the right choice – if this was the right fit, would I find my life partner, my best friends here? So much what if and would it be better ifs.

What’s funny is that in love, in true love, I haven’t questioned myself. I’ve flown to New York City at age 18 to find out if there was a spark there. Across planes, trains and automobiles (literally) – I just had to know. And I never regretted it. In fact, as hurtful as it was, I gained the clarity I needed by taking that leap.

At age 25, I moved-in with my then boyfriend. I moved out of my studio, a place I had created as my own home and established true independence, into the unknown. I shed a few tears as I picked up a hanger and some loose change from the straightener-burned low-pile carpet. It was my burned carpet and I was going to miss the hell out of it. But this was the next step and again, I leaped in.

These experiences were so incredibly valuable in teaching me what it feels like to be sure, even if it’s just for a little while. It feels good to know – whether the truth lets you down or sets you free.

Back on the market, this truth and “knowing” comes quickly. Maybe too quickly but maybe that’s okay. My question for myself and for those who wish to answer is – so what now. So I meet someone I’m interested in, out in the wild, without the help of a smart-whatever. We meet, we smile, we laugh – am I too eager if I ask him out? Am I too-old fashioned to wait for him to ask me? Do we do the social media thing and follow/friend/tweet/post/poke one another? Play it cool and wait it out at the risk of the opportunity passing? See, friends? What’s a girl gotta do to make her interest known in a way that’s just right?

Here’s my tactic for now – subject to change:
First and foremost, be myself. My mom’s voice is heavily in my head at this point but damn, the woman knows her stuff. Be patient, be open, be gently assertive.

Feel free to weigh in and help a sista out. For now, any walls that were built have to come down – and like the kid sharing my table said when finding the last available outlet for his laptop charger, “we own these walls”. I’m not quite sure what he meant but it totally became the theme of this post. Kid, you’re alright.

The guy sitting next to me on Muni this morning borrowed a pen from me and titled his journal entry with the same headline so it seemed suiting. He has no idea he made my morning and set the tone for a pretty wonderful day.

So…what’s up big guy?

I got ready this morning at a leisurely pace only to realize I was walking out the door 30 minutes ahead of schedule. I did what any normal person would do and headed to the farmers market to get more produce than I can realistically cook in a week’s time. I swear – I stock up at farmers markets like they’re going out of style. I get the usual favorites (seasonal fruit, kale, something to sauté) and then some potential new favorites (lemon cucumber, pink mushrooms). On my way back to Muni, the happiest baby I’ve ever seen is cooing over the littlest pears. I felt like not getting them would disappoint the baby so I got those too.

It’s been that strange wonderful kind of day where everyone feels connected, open and just human.

I’m still ahead of schedule so I stop and try a dark roast (I’m a light-medium fan) coffee recommended by someone who I have a standing date for a coffee brew-off with. Well, shoot. If coffee taste compatibility is a thing – I’ve got some taste acquiring to do. Does Mr. Right have to take his coffee the same way? I chatted with a girlfriend about this and she made a good point – it’s not that you take your coffee the same way, but that he knows how you take yours and vice versa.

This whole thing became bigger than coffee.

We date to eventually find someone we want to be with. But I’ve just kept on dating. My intuition hasn’t told me to settle down – really give it a go with one person. And that’s okay, I think. But maybe what I’m mistakenly looking for is someone who likes the same coffee as me instead of looking for that person who knows me well enough to appreciate our differences, make me step out of my comfort zone, and appreciate my quirks and preferences despite his own. After that first sip of a dark roast, why was I so quick to judge?

I went on a date last night with a real sweet man with gentle eyes and demeanor. Nothing wrong with that whatsoever but I could feel myself itching to go. Again, I had it made up that this wasn’t right. I had a great glass of wine in front of me, seated outside on a beautiful San Francisco evening, and yet what I wanted most was to be on my way, walking through the crisp city air. That intuition again – is it smart or is it too harsh? On my way home, I stopped by a retail shop where the guard about my age complimented my outfit. We talked about fried fish and how working at the Port of Oakland is his dream job because it reminds him of Nigeria. I was more invigorated – felt more of a connection – in our 10 minute chat than in the 120 minutes of the date.

I think I need to give online dating a rest. True, taking risks and chances is great. It’s also a shot in the dark. I love meeting people out in the wild, on an impulse shopping detour to discuss salmon versus trout.

Back to that strange-wonderful-everyone-connected-open-human thing. That’s what I want. That’s how I want to interact with the world and for the world to interact with me. So let’s get weird.

I’m a big believer in the little things. A lot of these little things have been popping up lately and I’m sharing them as a reminder to keep them pretty eyes open to the world around you. It’s an even bigger reminder to me as I can get so wrapped up in how things are without realizing what that can be.

Flash back to Friday.
Scene: Me on my way to a meeting. I had scrambled 15 minutes earlier to inform the client of my later arrival time. In a fluster and not super excited about being back at the building where only a few weeks earlier I was contesting my $600 tow charge, I hurriedly step into the elevator with five other strangers. Queue music from two custodial workers’ speaker:

So Mister postman look and see
Is there a letter in your bag for me
I been waiting a long long time
Since I heard from that girlfriend of mine

You gotta wait a minute, wait a minute
You gotta wait a minute, wait a minute…

A sly smile from the woman closest to the buttons, I chuckle, and – oh, what’s that? – a tap of the foot from Mr. Grumpy who fumbled in through almost-closed elevator doors with his coffee. I can’t speak for everyone on that elevator but I’m pretty sure spirits were lifted (I couldn’t help myself. C’mon guys, you should know me by now).

Later that day:
Muni bus 9. A total of 7 stops to my destination and it might as well have been 27. The bus reeked of body odor dirty hair. Sardine-packed, two wheelchairs, three dogs, a man preaching about the impending Clinton monarchy and a vicious guard dog blocking the exit. My brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. As we approach what I hope to be the second to last stop, I peer out the window hopelessly at a homeless woman with a cart full of belongings wondering how on earth we can fit one more on this bus. She shyly smiles and starts blowing kisses at me, waving.

I shake my head a couple times, and realize that in this city with all the crazy, there are glimmers of humanity, silliness, realness – people just being who they are. It brought my eyebrows down to their normal position and even put a smile on my face.

Okay, so dating. What I’ve noticed in my recent dating ventures is just this – me getting all caught up in my head what’s working, what’s not working, and just like bus #9 thinking: will this ever get to where I’m going? Then he puts a slight hand on the small of my back and this gesture puts everything at ease, even if just for a bit. It’s the moment where the over-active brain gives way to serenity, surrender, and comfort. A blown kiss through the cloudy muni window. Alright guys, I’m not saying adopt this as your game-changer maneuver, but it really is about those small, seemingly minute motions that say hey, be here with me for a second.

You gotta wait a minute, wait a minute
You gotta wait a minute, wait a minute…

So what’s new?

I am now the proud follower of not one but two hedgehog Instagram accounts, I visited the land that says “alu-mini-um” (as in the foil) and the land notoriously B-I-G for smoked salmon.

It’s been a whirlwind of a few months and I didn’t quite know where to begin since our last encounter so I thought I’d dive right in.

I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again – I believe things reappear in our lives when we’re not quite done with them. That could be a lesson, a person, an event, a story – that restaurant the fourth person in a week as talked about, a book title that keeps making its way into conversation (Petit Crenn and The Alchemist respectively).

Lately for me, it’s been ghosts of lovers past up in here. Granted, I’m on good terms with most (all?) of my exes. It’s not unusual for one of them to drop a line and say “hi” or for us to meet up every once in a blue moon. But this feels different. It’s making me take a look at how I’m different and if these reappearances are me returning to a me past, or if there’s a particular reason for the me present.

A lot can happen in several years – inevitably I have grown as a person, learned some hard lessons, seen myself and others evolve, strengthen, soften the rough edges and harden some soft spots. Somewhere along the line, I stopped scribbling in my journal different last names, placing hearts above the “i”s and after some heartache, got real with myself and what I wanted. I not only grew clear on what I wanted, but became okay with it which is even more important. My eyes have just gained some Instagram-quality filters and I’m trying to pick the one that makes my photos look the coolest.

I tell myself not to write off anyone too quickly, to be open to what could be different instead of what I think it has to look like. But it’s a fine line between settling and being open to something else, isn’t it? Do I apply a softer filter, or go straight for that harsh vignette?! I’ll consult my two hedgehogs and get back to you.

For all the women out there, at what point do we take charge and when is traditional dating behavior still upheld? Bottom line, who gets to have the balls?

Example:
Scene: A real-life meet-cute. I’m passing a new restaurant on Divisadero and my three bags and I whip around and double back to view the menu. A cutie coming towards me passes me and doubles back as wel. We convene, noses up against the art deco menu box frame. I pretend to read it, hyper-aware of his delicate curls, sweet frames and tan sweater. We chit-chat about where we just came from and what intrigued us about this new neighborhood gem. I was off to meet a friend for pizza, he just came from working at a different pizza place down the street. We exchanged “enjoy your night”s and off we went, continuing in our opposite directions.

What was on the tip of my tongue was “Let’s met up here sometime” and it rolled off as my kale and I turned around probably too late.

Here we have a classic case of two potential outcomes:
1. I could have said just that – “Let’s grab a drink here one of these nights.”
2. It could have played out exactly as it did.

I’m not saying that one is more correct than the other – except #1 is better. I do think that as a woman and a woman that wants to be pursued a little, I half expected the guy the take initiative, to have the balls to say, you know what, let’s go out. I barely know you, but you seem cool, we were in the right place, right time and this feels right right now. Amiright?!

On the other hand, I’m equally confident and capable of going for it. So why did I hold back? What’s really keeping me from being the risk-taker I know I can be? I can tie it back to past heartbreak, fear of rejection, wanting to be pursued. All of those things are probably true and have some role pressing the pause button in these situations.

This isn’t the first time something like this has happened so maybe slowly but surely, I’ll wipe the paint right off that pause button, miss it entirely so the film keeps playing and that meet-cute will lead to a happily ever after (whoa, sap card).

After all, we all know the oil gets the squeak wheel (except clearly my Muni bus driver that used this phrase today).

I’ve said before that I could see myself meeting the man of my dreams reaching for the last mango at the Farmers Market – that, just like in a movie, I reach, he reaches, fingertips brush and we look at each other with blushing cheeks and bashful smiles.

Okay, okay, let me have my meet-cute, alright?

On a rainy Saturday afternoon, that exact thing happened. Except nothing of the sort. Remember bad-date-mathematician from a while back? Well, I was literally reaching for a mango and then I hear a “Hey, there.” With no improved eye-contact since our last meeting, his eyes gaze at the street beyond the sidewalk, my shoulders turned toward the warmer, more promising neat rows of mangoes. This is going well.

Small talk ensues – his memory is impressive yet his body language and remembering to include me in the conversation is not. An exchange of pleasantries and an awkward hug later, I realize I’m not even shopping for mangoes and dart into the store. That wasn’t the only blast from the past that day. One of my best friends from childhood texted me with a letter I had written him when I was 18. It brought back a flood of memories and reflection of me ten years ago. The letter’s contents sounded like me, something I would write today with perhaps a little less use of ellipses and a little more proper use of casing.

What hit me most though is how much of that sentiment in that letter rings today. Do we really change, do our feelings change? Or is it just a change in perception? Maybe with age and time, certain things grow more or less clear but we have more skills, knowledge wisdom and other experiences to navigate waters that once felt rocky. The heart can still feel what it feels but is then layered with other tools, tid-bits and nuggets of knowledge that add to the big picture and make us see things with fresh eyes.

Sometimes with growing older and growing up, I feel more clear on things that at the time shook my world. Conversely, I feel deeply for 18-year-old me and to this day, understand the feelings as if they were yesterday.

This is something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately – where does our past meet our present? How much do we take along with us into today and let it shape and mold us and how much do we let go? I’m sure we’ve all experienced instances where our past pulls us back and other times when is it offering a push like going on a run with the breeze at your back. There’s danger in thinking there’s a perfect way to navigate the present but it gets sticky to decipher when that resistant feeling is holding you back – a sign that you’re not ready for what’s next – or when it’s the voice of your intuition.

Whoa, J. You started talking about mangoes – this escalated quickly…

When I’m faced with brake lights, I simply try to just be in it – voluntarily throw myself into traffic and wait it out. I shift my thoughts to what I know is true then allow myself be super honest about how I feel about them. No labels, no judgment. Lather, rise, repeat.

I often beat myself up when I feel like I’m revisiting a situation or struggle I’ve encountered before. I once heard (Mom, was this you?) that if you re-visit a stand-still, you haven’t yet learned the lesson that experience is meant to teach you. I love that. it speaks to the patience and compassion we must take in our approach in choosing our next move.

To get all yoga teacher on you – it’s called a practice not a perfect – in yoga, in life, in finding balance, in finding your truth. The past can be rough but it doesn’t have to be. Just listen and choose. (But don’t take too long choosing because you know what they say, “Pause too long on a mango and…” Okay no one says that, but you get my point.)