A no-brainer favor

I would like to keep my personal life out of my work life.

I just want to do my job.

I don’t want to have to get into everything that’s been going on while I am at work.

My co-workers do not need people asking them about my private world

My personal life discussions happen here – let’s leave it that way.

love. from a friend

NAMING LOVE TOO EARLY

is a beautiful but harrowing human difficulty. Most of our heartbreak comes from attempting to name who or what we love and the way we love, too early in the vulnerable journey of discovery.

We can never know in the beginning, in giving ourselves to a person, to a work, to a marriage or to a cause, exactly what kind of love we are involved with. When we demand a certain specific kind of reciprocation before the revelation has flowered completely we find ourselves disappointed and bereaved and in that grief may miss the particular form of love that is actually possible but that did not meet our initial and too specific expectations. Feeling bereft we take our identity as one who is disappointed in love, our almost proud disappointment preventing us from seeing the lack of reciprocation from the person or the situation as simply a difficult invitation into a deeper and as yet unrecognizable form of affection.

The act of loving itself, always becomes a path of humble apprenticeship, not only in following its difficult way and discovering its different forms of humility and beautiful abasement but strangely, through its fierce introduction to all its many astonishing and different forms, where we are asked continually and against our will, to give in so many different ways, without knowing exactly, or in what way, when or how, the mysterious gift will be returned.

We name mostly in order to control but what is worth loving does not want to be held within the bounds of too narrow a calling. In many ways love has already named us and called us before we can even begin to speak back to it, before we can utter the right words or understand what has happened or is continuing to happen to us: an invitation to the most difficult art of all, to love without naming at all.

leaning in and leaning on

“lean into this…it’s safe”

“lean on me, let me be the guy that shows up for you”

oh holy mother of god, have there ever been any scarier words spoken?

there is nothing I want more than to have the support of someone I love; a partner in the true sense of the word

but when it’s offered up, all I can think is that things are so much easier to tackle on my own because then I’m not counting on anyone else and I won’t be let down, disappointed

crushed

I have a history of thinking I’ve found that person who is willing to walk through the fire with me, a person who will be there with a handkerchief in hand and a big ole shoulder where I can lay my head

through thick and thin

in sickness and in health

my ability to discern between all-talk and the real deal has been super faulty

so when it is offered again, the truth, plain and simple, is that I don’t trust it

I don’t believe it to be real

I don’t believe in the other person

when my world imploded two years ago, I learned more than I ever wish I had to about fair-weather friends; about people who bail when the shit hits

I was devastated and disillusioned

a friend said, you don’t trust anyone…and I don’t fucking blame you

I also learned about what it means to have true blue dyed-in-the-wool friends

some friends, near and far, kept showing up – either on my doorstep or on the phone or even just on facebook – letting me know that yes, there are people who are the real deal

but that’s a whole different bag than a man with whom I am in a relationship

at this age, with this life experience, a woman like me gets to the point of saying, you never know if you can trust a man, but you know you can always count on your friends

so how does a woman like me ever trust a man (partner) again?

how does a woman like me lean into a relationship and allow that man to support her?

and, how does a woman like me protect herself without hurting the person (man) who is trying to be the good guy, the guy who shows up, the guy who actually wants to be the shoulder, and who isn’t the guy who bails when the going gets rough?

because right now, the going is really fucking rough

 

How we grieve

Five hours of tennis. Straight. One match.

Glued to the television. Hanging on every swing, every ping, every motion of the fuzzy yellow ball.

We are a family that loves tennis. We all played. I was horrible.

But that doesn’t mean that I don’t understand the thrill of hitting the sweet spot in the strings on the racket.

It doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate a good match when I see one.

I have so many memories of my dad in his whites. I can still smell the mixed fragrances of sweat and tennis balls and an after-game Tom Collins.

Mom owned a tennis shop. Mom also played on a country club team. It was The B Team.

The B Team was my family. Mom used to say, “Why would I want to play on the A Team? They’re much too competitive.” The B Team was all about having fun.

The husbands and children of The B Team were as much a part of the team as the players themselves.

Mom and a couple of her teammates owned a tennis shop – The Court Jester. It was my first job and one of my dad’s first tax write-offs.

When we were in London for a business trip of my father’s, he got sick. While he was lying in bed in the hotel, Mom and I planned a day at the Tate. When we got on the underground and looked at the map to determine which stop was ours, Mom realized that Wimbledon was at the end of the line.

She debated for maybe a millisecond then announced that instead of a museum, we were going to watch tennis and we ended up watching Martina Navratilova on Centre Court.

One of the greatest moments in Strazza family history.

So it made perfect sense to the three of us here today that we would spend all day watching a ball fly back and forth across a net, periodically stating the obvious, “Dad would love this match.”

I don’t know how other families do this, but the Strazzas did tennis today and it was absolutely perfect.

It finally happened

the thing that we’ve been waiting for, anticipating, dreading…

my father has died

yesterday

totally expected, and yet, totally unexpected

meaning, we’ve known it was coming, but yesterday started out as a good day, an unextraordinary day, and then, in a moment, it became extraordinary

I am on my way

for what feels like the millionth time, I am in the dallas airport waiting to get on a plane

because this has happened so many times, I continue to imagine that everything there will be like it always is when I arrive

but it won’t be

and that won’t really hit me until I see his empty recliner

(the one from the medical supply store that launches a person onto their feet so they don’t have to get out of the chair of their own accord)

I have absolutely no idea how to do this

Spelling has gone to the dogs

This morning I have been online reading about corgis and their wretched tendency to bite the hand that feeds them – literally…even if that hand belongs to a seven year old boy who has done nothing but love and snuggle with that corgi.

Anyway, not the point.

The point here is:

I read multiple articles and what I learned was that

Hoomins need to be the alfa dog thruout the day.

I’m not fucking kidding.