There is an event coming up in my life this August the idea of which, for a moment, blew my mind. It's my high school class reunion. The part that feels strange is the fact that apparently thirty years have passed since I graduated. How can that possibly be true. What did I do with all those years? The common cold still exists; didn't cure that. Bread was already being sliced in 1983; didn't come up with that. And, even if my life depended on it, I couldn't tell you if the chicken or the egg came first.
Even the things that I did right, I did at times, manage to screw up to varying degrees. I have four fabulous kids, but haven't always been the best mother. I graduated from nursing school, but then, after almost twenty years, flushed what could have been a wonderful career down the toilet behind an opiate addiction. I've been married a couple times, but, much like elevators and escalators, got monogamy and monotony confused........a lot. After many mistakes and acknowledging the fact that I am no longer a spring chicken I think that at some level, I adopted the belief that it was too late to start something new and that I probably didn't deserve a fresh start. After all, I'm the only person to have made mistakes, to have let myself and people that I love dearly down or to have lived as a lesser version of myself due, at least in part, to abusing drugs and alcohol. Right?
I've lived, in many ways, a monaural and monochrome life as a result, at least in part, of fear and denial of my own worth and from making decisions that I thought would please other people and earn their acceptance instead of believing I had every right to make my life decisions for myself whether they approved of them or not. I realized that this duet of bullshit had kept me from what would have probably been some fabulous adventures when, recently, it almost kept me from yet another one.
When HUM (see previous blogs) invited me for grown-up alone time I would love to say that my reaction was "Well, of course he wants to spend a night in the company of someone as fabulously fun and interesting as ME". But that wasn't my reaction. AT ALL. First I tried to figure out why in the world he would be interested in "someone like me". What does that even mean???? I have many friends that love to spend time with me and I don't second guess them or their motives. Then I started to wonder what was wrong with him??? I wanted, with all my might, to have a sexy, romantic and fun night with him, but there was always the Poodle Factor to consider. Now I would have, at this point, assumed that everyone knew what the Poodle Factor was except for the fact that the two people I spoke to when trying to figure out if this sleepover was a risk I wanted to take had no idea what I was talking about or what drugs I seemed to suddenly be using. Let me explain. As I said before, I thought this man was fabulous. But what if I was wrong. What if we went to his room and instead of the fulfillment of the wonderful way I imagined things would unfold he pulled out a poodle and said (in a squeaky PeeWee Herman voice because even his sexy voice turns out to be fake) "Lick Fifi's asshole.....it's what I'm into". Boom! Poodle factor wipes out any positive thing I ever thought about this man and life as I've known it since forming an opinion about him in 1987 (based on a character not him, yeah I know) is over. My friends, with the help of a hitter or two, convinced me that the odds of my fairy tale turning into a freak show were fairly slim and it was a chance worth taking. Well, as I am sure you are all devoted readers, you already know that the night turned out wonderfully. So fabulous was it in fact that, with my orgasm, I got a side order of epiphany. Even if he'd surprised me with a poodle it wouldn't have been the end of the world. It would have been a bit of a disappointment, yes, but NOT the end of the world. I would have simply walked away, reported him to the SPCA and gone on with my life.
In hindsight it's easy to say it was worth working through my craziness and taking a chance, but I needed a way to ensure that, when faced with opportunities in the future, I would be willing to embrace them, not without, but in spite of, fear and doubt. How could I facilitate this. I needed a new way of thinking. A new mantra. Then it came to me.....What Would Carrie Bradshaw Do?????? Would she doubt herself and her worth? Would she come up with ridiculous scenarios in her head about how everything would surely go wrong? Would she try to talk herself out of fantastic opportunites? OF COURSE SHE WOULD! Then she would, with the help of a quirky outfit, a Cosmopolitan or two and her friends, find it within herself to go forward ~ seeming bold and looking gorgeous.
And so, in the spirit and with the aplomb of CB, I am approaching life with a new attitude. I am writing with the confidence that I am good and am going to get better. I am going to be more open to the idea of love in whatever form it presents itself. I am going back to school, full time, in the fall to major in English and take classes like Basic Drawing and Art Appreciation. This one was a toughie. I registered for these classes knowing full well that the people who raised me would, from here and from the grave, raise their eyebrows and tell me that this was not a practical decision. I don't care. Writing is my passion and art brings me joy.......and I deserve joy. Besides, it's what Carrie Bradshaw would do.
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