Courage con Corazón Coraje with Heart

A woman I know from work passed away recently. She was central to our office, and always greeted me with a smile and a kind word. While I did not know her well, her death struck many of my colleagues hard. And it came as a complete surprise – but the hardest part was hearing that she died alone with no friends or family around.

Like many Westerners, I do not know how to handle death well. My primary model for how to deal with difficult situations, my mom, is not particularly good at this either. She holds her grief as a personal travesty that only she can understand. Her response goes something like this (following her mother’s death):

Riding in the back seat of the car, sniffling and sighing, looking out the window. ‘Mom, are you ok?’ More sighing, slight turn away to the window ‘yes. I’m fine’. ‘Ok, just checking – well, what do you want for dinner?’ ‘Oh, I don’t care, I can’t deal with that now’. ‘Ok, well, that was why I wanted to check if you were ok?’ More sighing, sniffling….‘Oh, forget it, you wouldn’t understand’. [true story]

Uh… you’re right. I don’t.

(and this is not to give my mom a hard time, she was doing the best she could – and I do not doubt or want to make light of the fact that loosing your mother, especially after an incredibly horrible long slow death, would be devastating and difficult to deal with…. but still….)

______

Slowly more news came out about this woman’s death – but it was difficult to get because there was no next of kin, no family, no friends listed to deal with the hospital. She apparently had no one to be there for her. The story we eventually heard was that she went to the hospital, complaining of shortness of breath and 48 hours she was pronounced dead. During that time she was alone. During those 48 hours, if she was conscious during that time – it is painful to think that she was alone – with no ine to witness her last hours in this life.

My worse nightmare. My biggest fear.

And before you go all Buddhist on me – yes, I know we all die alone.

_______

When I first moved to NY, I would go weekends without talking to anyone. I didn’t know anyway, I didn’t have plans with anyone. And even my work., because I spent time in different places every day – different day, different place – no one would actually notice for a few days if I didn’t show up. They might think it rude on Monday that I didn’t show up without word, and Tuesday, the different school would think the same – but there would not be a connection that I missed both Monday and Tuesday. It might be a few days before anyone noticed I was gone.

In those first few months, that awareness would hit me like a Mack truck, sucking the air out of my lungs, digging deep into my gut.

How I craved to be simply witnessed. To have someone know about my days, to have someone care about my whereabouts and to see me. Someone to notice if I did not go to work on Monday.

Imagine that?

Imagine that.

I crave intimacy. I crave hot, passionate sex. I crave celebrating my body (good lord universe – I exercise every day for my own wellness, but let’s show this shit off!). I crave celebrating my man’s body, too. I crave shared laughter and dinners cooked at home and dancing together late into the night.

But most of all – I crave being witnessed. I crave having someone care about knowing where I am. Someone to see me and hear me and care about me.

I love riding the train in NYC and as a people watcher – is there anything better?

And, let’s be honest – as a single woman appreciative of attractive men – is there anything better?! (ok, yes, there is a lot better, but work with me here….)

I was on my way home from a networking event. Which, when you’re kind of an introvert, aren’t all that exciting. But it was hosted by my college and included some people I knew and people in my profession, so interesting enough.

My ride home was about 45 minutes, buoyed by 2 glasses of cheap wine and some cubed cheese. It was a Tuesday or Wednesday night, I had work the next day, I had a lot on my mind and was doing that stare-into-space-slash-people-watching that makes my hours of subway riding enjoyable bearable.

Around 23rd st. I noticed him – leaning up against the wall at the front of the car, dapper in a tailored suit. But, attractive men – NYC does not lack.

And attractive men of NYC, I am not afraid to make eyes at.

(because…. why not? In a city of 8 million, what are the chances you’ll see them again?)[Ed. note – with some, turns out the chances are quite high]

In any case, I alternated between reading my book and checking out dapper-man. And slowly realized that he was checking me out too. It went something like this…

I look at him, him look up, I look away. Time passes. I look up, catch him looking at me, he looks away. In those brief moments of catching each other’s eyes, brief smiles started to be exchanged.

As we got closer to my stop, we caught each other’s eyes and he mouthed to me ‘next stop…’. Without too much thought, and shaking hands, I grabbed my journal and wrote out my name and phone number. And got up and walked up to him.

My face was burning, my hands were shaking, but I handed him my phone number. He smiled and said ‘you have a great smile’ and grinned at me. I blushed, said thank you, and looked away. His stop was coming up, my face was burning, my hands were shaking and we just stood there grinning at each other. in the midst of that, we exchange names, his -  Nixon, his accent Nigerian, his smile – beautiful.

He got off the train moments later and I smiled to myself the rest of the way home, proud of myself for giving him my number, feeling beautiful and powerful.

An hour later, as I was about to go to sleep, he texted. We texted back and forth a bit, but let’s just cut to the chase – after time he asks me if I am in a relationship. I think to myself – uh, no, obviously or I wouldn’t have talked to you.

But, turns out that is not the way everyone works.

Because - it turns out he has a girlfriend. And still wants to meet up with me for tea.

Um, thanks, but no thanks.

I end the conversation saying, 'well, take it as a compliment; I have never given a handsome man my phone number on the train.'

#truth.

It turns into a fun story that I share with my girlfriends, and it is an ego boost, for sure. It’s good to feel attractive, and to catch the attention of such a handsome man, but also it feels good to be grounded in knowing that I want a man who is going to show up 100% with me, who wants to be with just me.

Months pass, I don’t give Nixon another thought.

A few months ago, on a crowded train, I realize I am standing next to him. I have my back to him slightly and don’t make eye contact, though it does make me laugh - that of course I run into him. Nothing is said. Anyways, I was checking out another really cute guy on that ride home (no phone number that time).

Then, a month ago, I get a text from him – asking if I want to hang out. I have to ask – ‘you’re single now?’ I don’t get a response right away, but finally he writes and says ‘no, but want to get tea?”

The way my fun little anxieties with abandonment play out is that I tend to go for men who are unavailable (more on that later) and then go for them with all the effort I have put into all other aspects of my life - college (#struggle), professional life (#success).  I have made it to where I am today - a place I feel really proud of - through sheer grit, determination and hard work (and yes, probably a little luck).

Turns out relationships are not the same way.

But, as of yet, that hasn't stopped me.  

I put in a good day's work.  And by a good day's work - I mean, a NYC-style day's work, overtime and all.

I make eye contact, I smile, I approach men, I give my phone number, I suggest we go out, I ask out, I make small talk at the bar, I flirt.

(not all at the same time - that would just make me a freak! and come on, I'm not that crazy! or bold.)

I decided two or so years ago that if I wanted the relationship that I dreamed of, I needed to put effort into it.  And, so, I used the formula I have used for all the other things in my life that I have wanted (and have gotten) - work for it!

So, I did.  I signed up for online dating, I emailed guys, I tried to talk to guys, I gave my phone number to a guy on the subway (oh, that's a good story - I promise to tell that one!). I went out dancing and took language classes and went to the cafés and bars.

And I met men, some.  I went on dates, some.

But nothing panned out. Nothing morphed into the relationship I dreamed of.  It ended up looking like this:

A(100% +100%) + B(25%-100% + 25%) = 0

(for those of you not feeling comfortable with math YET - that is me being authentic and giving and working and the dude - maybe being authentic, but only giving a little - just enough to hook me in)

 That formula doesn't work anymore.

So now, now I am trying a new tactic.  Only giving 50%.  Or maybe not quite that -- giving 100%, but only doing 50% of the work.  I am still me - my overexcited, eager, isn't-that-the-coolest-thing-ever self -- but I have decided that I cannot do all the work anymore. 

A (100% + 50%) + B(100%+ 50%) = YAY!

I feel conflicted about hope. On one hand, I believe in hope – in wanting things to be better than they are, to achieve my dreams, hope to manifest dreams. On the other hand, is hope that is centered in not being ok with the life you have right here, right now – is that ok hope? One hope is grounded in reality, the other not. One is childish, whimsical; the other is not.

Nico plays in a band that I like. I noticed him one of the first times I went to see the band play, drawn to his energy as he led the band. Never having been one to be drawn to musicians, I spent the evening dancing, smiling to myself as I danced to the latin beats. Sure, he was attractive, but how clichéd is that?

But, the next week when I came back to dance, we made eye contact, over and over and shared smiles – each of us looking away after the smiles filled our faces – nothing fake about them. During the last song, he even came out and danced with me a bit. I floated home that night, gleeful with the smiles and energy between us.

At the next show, the smiles continued and during the break he came up and introduced himself. It all felt so right – for us to be talking and smiling at each other – and taking it slow, each week a little more.

Finally, after a few weeks of smiles and brief chats, I asked him at the end of the show if he wanted to get a drink. I was nervous to ask him, but he said yes – and while I waited at the bar – I rationalized to myself that he could have said no if he did not really want to hang out with me. But, he came out and we talked for about 30-40 minutes, chatting about our lives and where we had been. Again, his smile and energy were so attractive to me, but there was something missing. While our conversation was good and interesting, he didn’t ask for my phone number. He gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek goodbye, but there wasn’t an ask to hang out again soon.

I went home that night and, while I felt proud for asking him to get a drink with me, I also added to my list* ‘open and ready for a relationship’. It seemed that Nico maybe wasn’t so available.

Ok, so note to myself – move on from that one and find someone who is ready and available. But, easier said than done, right?

I didn’t go see the band for a while, giving me some space from Nico. But, then I went back with a friend, and there he was. He looked up when I walked in the room – gave me a smile and a wave. Then, at one point he came back to fiddle with a light and came over to give me a hug and say hello (which seemed so obvious, since there was no point for him to play with the switch). At the end of the night, I went to him to say goodbye – another hug, kiss on the cheek. And still, no ask for my phone number.

All signs point to him being unavailable. Sure, it seems that he is attracted to me to some degree, but clearly he is not in the same place as I am in being open to a relationship. And so, when I hope that it was different, when I hope that maybe this evening will be different – that hope is just foolish. It’s a childish hope – a hope that doesn’t serve me.

So, I’m learning to tell the difference between my hopes – one that is based on me and one that is based on outside circumstances. One that is about hopes for my life and what I want in my life, and another that is based on wanting things to be different than they are.

———

But, in order to start, we need to get a few things straight.

First off, I know my parents love me - and have their whole lives. I am a child of their love, NO doubt in my mind of this. None whatsoever.

And yet, just like all of us.... they are deeply flawed. After all, they are human, just like me and all my flaws.

But, when you're a kid - you expect that they are NOT human. In fact, you think of them as super human. They are your heros - no - your superheros - swooping in to save the day when you fall and skin your knee.

(and for the record... I cannot even fathom how hard the job is to be a parent and to be there for your kids for everything - to understand how to navigate the social, emotional and physical challenges that kids go through)

And so.... when my dad left when I was 8 and my mom struggled to get her ground and raise two kids (and did a damn good job given the whole situation), I struggled. It wasn't the ideal situation for me and it hurt me. My superheros left, without a word to explain. Not because they didn't love me, but instead because no one knew what to do in the situation. But it hurt me in real and significant ways - and I was that little kid left alone on the playground, swinging on the swing with no one to push her.

So, these pages.... no, they are not about the the fault of being abandoned on the playground - but instead of rising out of that.  The hopefulness of realizing this struggle and lifting up, shaking out my wings and rising up.

Ryan was in one of my trainings – clearly too young for me. Oh, and he worked with one of my organizations, so…. probably should be off limits. Oh yeah, professional boundaries and all. But, you can’t deny the fact that we couldn’t stop smiling at each other and joking around together. Right – but just friendly….  right.

We hung out one time last fall, and that was a funny night. He came with two…