the alchemy of cake

i don't remember exactly when i first saw her eager face peeking through the screen door of the gym. "Hi, Everybody!" she pronounced loudly, with a sort of detached enthusiasm. i don't remember what possessed me to start talking to her. it was a few times after her first appearance, after i'd simply responded back "Hi!" that i felt it was time to say more. it was clear she wanted to talk.

i was awkward. i don't know how to talk to adolescents in general, let alone...her. i joked, something about, "do you want to come work out with us? do you do any sports?" she doesn't do any sports, and she didn't seem interested in what i was doing. she asked if any of us lived "around here". embarrassed, i listed the cities and neighborhoods where we all were from, avoiding admitting the fact that we were of a different socioeconomic classes, she and us, and so, no, no one lives in the rough neighborhood in which the gym resides.

the gym is on the boundary of a rough neighborhood in Bridgeport. we must be quite the sight, mostly white, fit, well-dressed, running down the sidewalk in the early morning hours, striding over crumbling curbs, veering into the street to avoid uneven pavement, capitalizing on the goodwill of drivers waiting at the intersection we are crossing when the light turns green, hoping to make every second count. they are waiting at bus stops, driving to work in half-broken down cars, waiting at the day laborer pick-up spot, hoping to make every hour count. we occupy the same space, but we occupy different worlds.

she is slow to respond to my questions. this makes me more uncomfortable. why is she taking so long to answer? did she get enough sleep? enough to eat? is she on drugs? did her mom drug her? she isn't disengaged in a rebellious way -- she's not a teenager, yet. her smile is genuine. she is shy, yet curious. she was the one who initiated the contact, after all. it haunts me, her delay in answering. i want to know what she is thinking. maybe she'd just prolonging the interaction, reluctant to leave the sliver of our overlapping worlds and return to hers.

the first or second time, i can't even remember, that we had an actual conversation, i was asking about school -- how many days left? -- she revealed that tomorrow was her birthday. how old? 11. any big plans? will there be cake in class? will they sing for you? the questions were out of my mouth before i realized the potential insensitivity of them. her 11th birthday might hold different expectations than my 11th birthday did, which took place in a comfortably middle class nearly all-white  existence in a small town in the Midwest. she was her typical slow self to respond, so i couldn't read how out of touch my probing questions were.

i happened to be working 2nd shift that day, and had planned to go to the grocery store after class. she and her birthday were on my mind as i rounded the corner to the bakery section. while cake was the traditional choice for birthdays, a 6-pack of cupcakes didn't seem quite right, like i was trying too hard, like i expected her to share, to have friends, to have a school that didn't find bringing in cake on a birthday to be unusual. i spotted a display of large sugar cookies, individually wrapped and decorated with brightly-colored frosting in the guise of animals and insects. i chose a blue butterfly. something told me she liked blue.

the next day, her birthday, i carefully packed her cookie in a smaller bag, which i kept out on the gym floor. i made sure to claim a workout spot close to the door, as she often showed up just before the end of class. sometimes, we were already done with the workout, and i could talk to her without too many people noticing. but today, we were in the middle of stretching. everyone seated and quiet and attentive. she proclaimed her presence with her usual vociferous "Hi!" i responded with "Hi!...Happy birthday!" to which other gym members mumbled a birthday greeting, surprised that i knew it was her birthday. i hesitated, because all eyes were on me and this girl, but i'd come this far in my gesture and would regret not seeing it through. i jumped up from my stretch and said, "I have something for you." i grabbed the cookie from my bag, and went outside to give it to her. i said something along the lines of "I thought you'd like this." she was slow to process what was happening, as she'd been slow to process my past questions. but i could tell she was registering surprise. she hadn't expected anything from me, a near-complete stranger on her birthday.

that was Thursday. i didn't go to the gym on Friday. today was Monday.

i wasn't even thinking of her, my weekend had been so busy and hectic. my life in general busy and hectic. i'd forgotten about her world, that she would be looking to enter that tiny sliver of overlap at 7:20 am, even if just for a minute. the door to the gym was closed this morning, as the coach had the meager A/C on to keep the building summer humidity at bay. i'd finished the workout and was cheering other people on, when i saw her face at the window. she was peering in, hands cupped to the pane so she could see into the dim interior. her breath was fogging up the pane, and she was knocking, trying to get someone's attention, desperately seeking entree into that sliver. i went to the door and stepped outside.

"Hi! How are you?" I said enthusiastically. i was in a good mood. I'd PR'd a lift i hated, and gotten a shy new member to open up to me. "how many days left of school? 2?"

"One," she replied with a sly smile. "Your last day! How exciting!" that sly smile again. she was excited, in her muted way, for her last day of school. "What's your name?" I asked. she told me her, and I told her mine. I've forgotten her name already. it was unusual, one i hadn't heard before, in my world. i'm bad with names, and i tried to hang onto it, but it's gone. my day, my busy life, pushed it out of my mind.

the rapidity, for her at least, with which she asked the next question divulged that it had been on her mind. "Were you the one who gave me the blue butterfly?"

it took me a second to recall what had been on the cookie. i'd bought it 5 days ago, an eternity in my whirlwind life. i was processing both the color of the frosting, the shape of the cookie, and what it meant that she was asking this questions. maybe she noticed i was slow to respond. maybe she wondered what was taking me so long. did i get a good night's sleep? did i have enough for breakfast? was i on drugs?

"Yes..." and then i felt awkward again. how to admit that i liked her, cared about her, wanted to do something nice for her, but didn't want it to seem like too grand a gesture, like charity. "i thought you would enjoy a treat on your birthday."

the awkwardness that i created for myself pushed me to end the conversation abruptly. "well, i should get back inside and cheer people on." i'm certain this made no sense to her, confirmed her suspicions of my drug-addled state. "good-bye".

it dawned on me later that if this was her last day of school, it might be the last time i see her until the fall. that realization sat in pit of my stomach like a rock. i blew it. she wanted more; i cut her off. my inability to deal with uncomfortable feelings, of interacting with a person from a different world, whom i didn't understand, who i was putting thoughts and feelings and words into her head and heart and mouth, who i was making assumptions about based on my experiences and world-view...that is the tragedy.  i missed an opportunity to cement a deeper connection by making future plans, by reaching out to engage her, enlist her, invite her back into that sliver of overlap of our worlds. an opportunity to grow that sliver, day by day, interaction by awkward interaction, into a full-fledged slice of cake.

grieving, again

i still think grieving is in some parts selfish. and this grief, my grief, is immensely so.

part of a letter I wrote to Ryan West's fundraising gmail account, but took out:

Ryan - So thinking of my memories of you is really hard & painful for me right now, because nearly all of them are with him. They are of happier times. It's no coincidence you remind me of happier times, but they are bitter-sweet for me. I feel so insanely guilty for turning everyone's loss and pain into my own selfish painful story. But there it is. I can't dig through my photos to find one of you & I, and change my Facebook profile picture to it, because it will undoubtedly make me think of A.)

Clover & Ryan - I'm happy you two found each other. Your love is so beautiful. Your devotion so inspiring. I am incredibly angered and saddened in thinking about how unfair it is that Ryan was taken from you so soon. It's not fair that others disrespect love and marriage and vows and go on to lead long, healthy lives, while those that exemplify devotion and dedication get the short end of the stick.

I wasn't that close to Ryan. So while I"m certainly sad that he died, I'm not devastated. It is sad....

[Tangent: but what's sadder is that he had cancer, and suffered through treatments, and a painful, debilitating, eviscerating death. That he died is almost a relief, a blessing, at this point. He was DNR. They knew it was the end. His suffering is over. He put up such a valiant fight. No shame in dying.]

...but I know him through A & A's friends. So nearly all my memories of Ryan involve A. So it's hard for me to look at pictures people are posting of him, because some of them have A in them. Or they remind me of a time -- an event, a party, a whatever -- with A. Happier times. That we were fucking happy once. Or at least I thought I was.

And this was just the tip of the "my grief is giving me guilt" ice berg, thinking of Ryan reminding me of A. At a gathering for Ryan, which took place in a bar, and thus involved lots of drinking, I became intensely upset at seeing Them. I then felt intensely guilty for reacting as I did -- for not having, as my therapist pointed out, a generic grief response. She pointed out that everyone is going to experience grief surrounding a particular tragic event in a personal way. And considering how complicated our Ultimate community is socially, romantically, I cannot have been the only person to not be responding in a non-generic way.

A Memory came up on Facebook the day Ryan passed of the first Constitution Game down in Philly. The debut of the Minute Men cheering section. I don't think I had a poster celebrating my sig-O that day, but in the picture, I'm standing next to a friend, who is holding a poster celebrating her former sig-O, who cheated on her. So much sad, betrayed, bittersweet emotions contemplating happy times past.

But is the present so tragic? I went back and looked at my last g-chat with Ryan. I chatted him soon after Turkey Bowl. He asked how I was doing otherwise (after we had the obligatory Ultimate chit chat). I said, not great.

Him: That is tough. Unfortunately there is no map on how to properly live a life. its just a series of blunders and guesses in hopes you are doing the right thing.
Me: "just sucks when you find out you've been doing it wrong for 5 years. and your life isn't what you thought it was"
Him: better to find out than to never know though right?
Me: yeah. i want to be a better person, so i want to know
Him: well i am sure you will be fine. you havent had any issues being a good person up until this point

Can a friend's passing teach us to look back on the happy times fondly, not as a tragedy because they are in the past with someone who is no longer a part of our lives, but as a celebration of atemporal love and spirit?

the fallacy of love, according to popular media

seriously, fuck song lyrics and movies.

this song isn't even bubble-gum-pop-saccharine, and it contains this lyric:

I want you by my side
So that I never feel alone again

(Stolen Dance, by Milky Chance)

No no no. another person doesn't magically solve all of your problems.  they don't take away all negative feelings and aspects from your life. they aren't mind readers, who figure out what you want before you do. there are no Knights in White Shining Amror who save you from your misery. be your own fucking Knight.

examine your life. what can you do to make it better -- yourself? stop waiting for someone to come along and rescue to. that's not going to happen. you're just setting yourself up for disappointment when someone good -- but not perfect, nor with magical powers -- does come along, and doesn't live up to your media-fueled fantasies.

chewed up

usually class is one weightlifting exercise or skill focus, then a moderate workout. today was one long hard workout (a 21-min AMRAP -- as many reps as possible), followed by a shorter, but still grueling workout, which was optional. i did OK in the first. had to scale / modify one of the movements, so it wasn't "Rx", but i still did well. the second workout was just gut-wrenching: as many Dumbbell Thrusters as you can do in 5 min. try doing any exercise as many times as possible in 5 minutes. it's just awful.

i was the only one in my class who opted for the second optional workout. so the coach focused his yelling at me. towards the end...i just couldn't do what he was telling me. he had been saying "it's just mental, your body can do it." then more specifically "one more rep." but i couldn't. and it felt so demoralizing. and yet, i ended up doing 22 more reps than the next closest person did that day, but i still felt like a failure. just the complete and utter exhaustion and effort and feeling like i still failed. i've felt this way in Ultimate, where you give it your all on the field and it's still not enough, and i feel this way now, in life. like i'm giving it my all, with Him and with Work, i'm TRYING, and i just CAN'T. (maybe it's mental, maybe i can. i just feel like i can't).

so the 5 minutes end, and i've push so hard, my muscles are on fire and i can't breathe, and the tears, they start coming and i can't stop them, and i go to the corner and get on my knees and put my elbows on a box and try to breathe, but i'm crying, and it becomes hyperventilating, and the coach i can tell he doesn't want to deal with this, not this, not at the end of what has to have been a long day for him, and oh god, i'm just another burden on someone, but i can't breathe. i can't calm down. the workout was cathartic and good and i'm stronger than i was before, better, a better person, i am, i am, i am becoming a better person. so many people say i am, this must be true. they are there for me, why can't i reach out to them? why can't i BREATHE?

why can't i?

recovery time

in interval training, one of the goals is to reduce the recovery time between bouts of intense exercise. one week you might go hard for 60 sec, or 400 m, and then rest 2:00. the next week, you might reduce your rest to 1:30, then 1:00. decrease your recovery time, increase your fitness.

one of my proudest post-D day moments, was not walking with my head held high, or navigating a difficult time without showing the slightest emotion. no, it was falling apart, unexpectedly, but putting myself back together in under a minute. 

it was the 8am CrossFit class on a Sunday. i'd had a good night the night before, and was having a good morning. i don't love working out in the mornings -- i feel stronger in the evenings -- but i do like the sense of accomplishment and energy an AM workout provides. so I push through the weakness and light-headedness on the weekends.

a guy, let's call him A, showed up at the class. our schedules don't normally overlap, so i wasn't expecting to see him. A is also a realtor, and had agreed to stop by the house to give his opinion on its value. that was planned for Monday. 

Saturday had actually been more precarious than i was perhaps admitting at the time. in the afternoon Andy & I met to begin divvying up possessions. and while that went well -- amicably, even jovially -- the exercise was deeply sad on a basic level, and it got to me after a while. the evening had been nice enough -- dinner with LD and Gronk. but at the bar after dinner, we ran into an old Fairfield ultimate guy, who brought Andy up -- not knowing my relationship with him -- and said, "He's a nice guy." i didn't correct him.

the first part of the workout usually isn't that intense, but today it was. It was an EMOM of heavy cleans, rope climbs, and burpees. i was already feeling light-headed, and in warming up my clean, i mis-calculated the weight, thought i was lifting 10# less than i was, and was frustrated with not feeling strong. the clock gets start, i do my first clean, i feel lightheaded, the coach gives me some feedback, i get frustrated, and start crying / hyper-ventilating. the coach has me sit down on a box, and i think "well this workout is over". but some part of me says, "No. I have 40 sec to do another clean." and i take a few deep breaths, get my shit together, and hit another clean.

to go from hysterical, to cleaning over 100# in under 60 sec is pretty damn impressive.

i'm proud of this because shit's not going to be perfect. i am going to get upset unexpectedly. something unexpected is going to set me off, and i'm going to have to figure out how to re-compose myself quickly. and that's what i did.

this skill came in handy during our first "real" session with the mediator today. she was trying to take a step back from the details of the financial negotiations, to understand over-arching goals and motivations, so the conversation took an emotional turn. i was trying to explain why i felt getting paid back was fair; the affair came up; and i think the honeymoon and how he'd already been cheating on me at that point. why did you marry her if she had emotionally abandoned you? i sense uncertainty; are you sure you want to divorce? Andy saying what i did to his was irrevocable; thinking about Her. i started to get upset, and excused myself to go to the bathroom. by the time i got there, i was already starting to calm down. rapid recovery time, saving me again.

i could walk away

today, right now, i think i could walk away.

i was watching the Season 1 & 2 recap of Transparent (which made me like & appreciate the show a lot more than when i watched it in "real time" -- the children all seem so whiny and entitled). the characters are all lost, grasping at relationships that aren't quite right, trying to find themselves, there was a scene between Maura and his former wife, and it hit me: they still cared about each other, they were still friends, and that was OK.

maybe Andy & I could do that?
or:
it's OK to have loved someone, to care for them, to be their friend, but no longer their spouse (for whatever reason(s))

alone

i have never felt more alone*. how else can you feel when someone you thought you'd known for 7 years turned out to be unrecognizable to you, almost overnight? and you feel that you have no choice but to walk away? because staying was eating away at your sense of self?

so alone, because who you thought you were, was tied up in him. in the two of you. in the past 7 years. and now he's telling you it was a lie. he was unhappy. you were a bad partner. awful. uncaring. cold. yet he bought a house with you, proposed to you, married you, cried at your wedding. so alone, because you are confused.

so alone, because your lives are intertwined. that house. the cats. the friends. but things can't keep you together when the emotions are driving you apart. emotions embroiled in the past, a past he is re-writing to suit his needs, to assuage his guilt. the past that he can't let go of. he claims he's been giving you second chances "for years". you don't remember these ultimatums, these "second chances" being given. again, you are confused.

so alone, yet so supported. you know you have friends who care, who are ready to take you in, offer a shoulder to cry on, open up the gym early, feed you, listen to you, distract you. but they aren't here now. they can't be. you have to do this part alone.

maybe that's where you are most comfortable, alone. that's what he wants you to believe, anyway. that you are incapable of not-alone, of intimacy. maybe this is just a sad story of your respective not-alones not being compatible, and you never figured out a way to discuss it, to find an acceptable middle-ground. to find a way to be alone and not-alone together.

*see previous post: standing at the bank of a stream...

my broken leg

one of the first stories he told me was of his broken leg. how the play transpired, the ambulance trip to the hospital, his family rushing there, his reaction (or lack thereof) to pain meds, the surgery to insert a metal rod, the recuperation, walking with a cane, the long road to recovery, the lingering pain at the screws in his knee. but the first time he told the story, it was an abbreviated version -- i broke my leg, i have a rod in my leg, i recovered -- with a endearing conclusion: "i imagined someday i'd get to tell someone this story."

that made me feel close to him, special. he struggled, he doesn't share this story with just anyone. and in that moment, on the sideline of an ultimate field, feeling the screw in his knee, i felt a connection.

*****

i had just asked for a divorce. he didn't accept my request outright and pushed back. the fight continued until he came back around to expecting me to accept some blame for the affair -- not just the lousy state of our relationship when it began, but for the actual lying and sneaking and cheating and betrayal itself. 

i stormed out. and soon found myself, introspectively, standing at the bank of the stream in downtown Sandy Hook. recapturing that space for myself, for that moment. staring out into the babbling water, in the weak winter sun, cold to the bone but refusing to shiver, i thought "this is my broken leg." this is the moment, the place, the event, the feeling, that i will one day get to tell someone. i believe that. i will one day connect with someone, find someone special, someone who considers me special, who is worthy of sharing my broken leg story.