26 September 2010

living a lie, southern style

In a little over a month, I will turn 36 years old. That particular number is quite ghastly to me. I remember being a wee yipper-snapper thinking 36 was old. Now, it is on my door step.

But while the entire upcoming birthday saga will surely be discussed at length (I am certain), today's topic is the simple fact that while I was in Peru, I learned that I have been living a lie for the past almost 36 years.

Yes. A. Lie.

While on holiday over dinner at a five-star restaurant, I learned that I have been living a lie; deceived since childhood by a woman I call "mother".

No, I am not adopted nor is my real daddy the mailman; I am a south paw!

Picture it: Lima - on a cool spring evening enjoying a truly South American culinary masterpiece dinner when the conversation somehow moves from the guinea pig entree description to my noticing how my father crosses his fingers.

Traveling back in time.... several years ago I went to a palm reader who had me cross my fingers. She asked my hand orientation, to which I replied I am right handed. She noted that my left thumb sat dominant atop my right thumb. I never thought about it but when she asked me to reverse my thumbs, it did feel awfully odd. This palm reader informed me I was left handed. Quite frankly, I never dwelled upon this fact until a few weeks ago seated at dinner when I noticed the positioning of my father's fingers.

Back to dinner in Lima: I ask my father if he is left or right handed. While I remember him as right handed, I asked because at that moment I noticed that his left thumb was placed atop is right. His response shocked me. He is left handed but his mother forced him to be right handed. Growing up, whenever he grabbed anything with his left hand, his dominant hand, his mother forced him to use his right hand.

Then he turned the questioning on to me, why had I asked? I explained that I too crossed my fingers like him and looking at my mother asked if she had done like my father's mother and forced me to be right handed. The woman looked like a trapped rat stating she remembered forcing me use my right hand but at the time it didn't dawn on her that I was left handed. Of course, that is the important caveat she would reiterate the entire night. Then she went on say that she did me a favor because the world is built for righties, not lefties.

I don't care about what she did; however, my mother ostensibly defended her decision to "make" me right handed for my own good. It certainly explains a lot about my ambidextrous tendencies. While I use my right hand, my immediate impulse always triggers left. The subtle undercurrent that my mother could not rid me of.

Funny, the little things one learns about herself in a brief moment in a strange land. Travelling reveals so much more than the differences that lie above the surface.

25 September 2010


this particular coldplay song has been everywhere in my life lately... wonder what it means....

The lights go out and I can't be saved
Tides that I tried to swim against
Have brought me down upon my knees
Oh I beg, I beg and plead singing

Come out of things unsaid
Shoot an apple off my head
And a trouble that can't be named
A tiger's waiting to be tamed singing

You are
You are

Confusion never stops
Closing walls and ticking clocks
Gonna come back and take you home
I could not stop that you now know singing

Come out upon my seas
Cursed missed opportunities
Am I a part of the cure?
Or am I part of the disease? Singing

You are
You are
You are
You are

You are
You are

And nothing else compares
And nothing else compares
And nothing else compares

You are
You are

Home, home where I wanted to go
Home, home where I wanted to go
Home, home where I wanted to go
Home, home where I wanted to go

20 September 2010

lessons learned applied

The most important lessons I learned during my marriage and subsequent divorce are to never say never and never make any assumptions or judgements. I never thought I'd be deceived and led to the path of divorced. I never thought that my divorce would be judged so harshly by bystanders assuming that I was the problem and The Leech was innocent. No one outside our failed marriage truly knows the hell I endured; hence, I make no assumptions because unless I am in your kitchen night after night, I don't know what truly goes on behind your closed door. After all, we can all be Oscar caliber actresses, if we really try to play our societal role with passion.

About a year after my divorce, a few girlfriends harassed me into trying on-line dating. Fearlessly I put myself out there meeting frog after frog, until I met Montana Man and I thought I truly found bliss. The Montana Man story played out it's sad song and I swore off internet dating. I said never again.

Never again turned into trying it again briefly last fall. I hadn't been on a date in forever and thought maybe it would be different in Texas. I had to recant my already learned lesson of never saying never because I gave online dating another go. I hate being a hypocrite and had to fess up to a few friends that I had recanted my moratorium on this arena; which was another marriage and divorce lesson: happily owning my share of the responsibility in failure (or in this case, recanting my "never" statement).

The internet dating fiasco is referred to as such because it was a fiasco. While I did not quoteth nevermore, I haven't pursued it until recently when I simply trolled around a little bit. Sadly though, my heart simply is not in it. I look because I am know I am ready for something but I don't want to put the effort into meeting someone (no matter what the ad or photos say) that has misrepresented himself. I am tired of the weeding process. I am tired of panning for gold because I only find a pile of dirty old rocks.

Of course, you may be confused because Super Dad is in the tapestry of my life. He is and he isn't. I have not seen the man otherwise known as Super Dad since the end of May. We are now entering what I can officially deem as the END. OF. SEPTEMBER.

Sure Super Dad has been battling his physical aliments. He's spent quality time at the Mayo Clinic day spa; not to mention plenty of money for that Mayo visit. But absence can only make the Patsy heart grow fonder for so long. We are officially entering the out-of-sight-out-of-mind phase. Yes, he calls me several times a day. But phone calls cannot make up for staring at each other's eyeballs. To be honest, I am not even concerned with the concept of sex. I miss simply seeing him. I miss hearing "you look beautiful today". I miss spending time with him. I miss running to Starbucks with him. I miss him and the basic daily human interaction piece of the love equation that has been missing for four months.

There are a few things I know for sure along with my previously mentioned marriage/divorce lessons and another insight I gained is that a telephone does not replace or equate to spending time with a potential mate-like person. Yes, Super Dad's lapse in physical health has become a big factor and maybe it will be a deciding factor. But I haven't seen him in four months. I asked him to come out here to spend some time with me and away from his house as I truly feeling the change of scenery will do wonders for him. To date, he has made zero progress in securing a ticket. All I get is lip service.

Another thing I learned from my marriage that was a leading factor in the divorce decision - words are meaningless; actions are everything. It is all about the follow through. If Super Dad doesn't feel well enough, then come clean with me - be honest - be truthful - but don't string me along because you "still haven't gotten your colonoscopy scheduled". Seriously?! This girl starts smelling rats when the words and actions go in paths that run counter to each other. Honesty goes much further with me than telling me what you think I want to hear. I am too smart, no matter what your motive is (i.e., to protect me), to fall for pretty words strung together with catch phrases like "I miss you", "Don't mesmerize any Peruvian men", and "Come home to Atlanta". Statements like that need to followed up with "When exactly do you want me to come out to see you" or "I would prefer to stay in Atlanta near my doctors but you come out here instead".

Maybe men don't work like that though. Maybe it is a Mars versus Venus thing. Maybe I am too much of a straight shooter - direct, to the point. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. A whole lot of maybes. A whole lot of rationalizations. A bunch of excuses. But at the end of the day, I see the outcome, regardless of the words, is the same: no plans to see each other in the month of September. As a extension of September, my October was basically booked before we got together. The honest answer is that our next real opportunity to spend time together is mid-November. At that point, it will be six months since we will have seen each other and honestly I don't know that I can build a relationship on that.

I suppose the old saying is correct - hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Or more importantly, I am applying my lessons learned - the words and the actions are not adding up which leads to serious speculation. When is Prince Charming going to knock on my door?

19 September 2010

back on the air

While I am delighted to be back home, I thoroughly enjoyed my Peruvian adventure. The country, the people were so much more than I had expected and anticipated. Being able to speak broken Spanish made the adventure all the more enjoyable, especially when bargaining for costume jewelry at the ferias.

I returned home to Texas realizing all that I take for granted on a daily basis; all the creature comforts that surround me. But then I look at life in the Sacred Valley; a simple life devoid of the manufactured stressors that give me gray hairs. Maslow's hierarchy in motion before my eyes. Which is better? From the smiles on the locals faces and the warmth of heart that emanated from them, I think they may have an advantage.

I am slowing slipping back into every day life; however, I am attempting to keep a reign on the work-life balance stuff. The work will always be there; other fleeting life moments may not. Luckily I have several hundred memories to transport me back.