I like having Thanksgiving as a day to reflect and to spend with family and if there is a significant other, then also with him.

This year was no different with the exception of one thing. D and I have had a back and forth come here go away relationship for a couple of months. The eve of Thanksgiving, after not hearing from him for a full week, I broke down and called. The chat went particularly well, with him telling me that he’d call me for Thanksgiving, towards the evening.

He didn’t.

Instead, he’d sent a short txt message telling me that he had gotten to his destination safely, was tired, and hoped that I was having a good one with my family. When I tried calling him late later in the evening, he didn’t pick up.

And it was in that moment that I felt I was done. That nothing would get this back on track.

My birthday is in roughly two weeks, with christmas and new year’s following. December is always a stressful time for me and one where I was looking forward to spending with D. Instead, I’ll be falling back on my pillow of friends, gathering up the little pieces, and moving onwards. With L, I never would have given it up a moment earlier. With D, I just wonder if I should have gone with my initial gut feeling and just kept things friendly. I’ll never know but I’m ready for something real.

And it was again this year. I had met someone back in July but was unable to let him in. My heart and mind were still making the completion and tying up those loose ends of the previous relationship. And so, after a bit of flirtation, I was faced with a decision. Do I continue this, or end it? My heart was not healed so I decided to end it before it really began.

In the weeks that followed, I missed him. I missed the little frown that he’d have on his face when he didn’t really agree or like something but wouldn’t say it, I missed the laughter in his eyes when he found something particularly amusing, I missed his views on design, I missed his friends, who I’d met briefly but had always felt a small sadness when the evening would end, I missed the smell of him, and then when the hurricane happened, I worried about how he was doing, if he was ok.

I guess that’s when I knew I was over L, that in the moment of some impending natural disaster, I no longer wanted to run to him, to reach out to him.

I emailed D to see if he was ok. The email turned into a phone call which turned into a visit which turned into dinner which turned into an honest talk about where I was emotionally, how I could only offer friendship at that time, and perhaps forever, how I wanted to be fair to his feelings and not lead him on.

He was calm and collected, and shared a few things and told me that there was no pressure, that he would be happy with being just friends because he simply wanted to get to know me better.

And in that moment, I’d felt as safe as I’ve felt in a long time. My heart opened, and for the first time, I was able to see the man who sat in front of me for who he is. And in that moment, I started to fall for him.

Yesterday we had our first, and it was so awful that it might be the last, fight. I walked away from it shaken and confused. But because I just survived one massive heartache, I know that I can survive others. But I keep wondering, when will I meet him? The one who I can share this next chunk of my life with?

It’s the kind of thing where if I was in a relationship right now, I wouldn’t take advantage of it the way that I intend to, now that I’m single again.

I can’t talk about it just yet but let’s just say there are some pretty exciting things developing.

Yep, time to get the groove back on. See you out there.

I was also looking for a home, a place to put down some roots after living abroad so so long. And while I loved many moments of it, I always felt just a little sad when I would come home to see that my parents were a bit more aged, that my friends’ children had grown that much more. And here I was, Auntie M, sill galavanting around the world.

And travel, travel had gotten old. It wasn’t fun anymore. I’d become jaded from having spent over 10 years on the road and I needed a break. I needed a home. And on July 27th, I got that home, a teeny tiny gem in the heart of Brooklyn. It was all mine. So I’d thought.

The same night, a colleague had leaving drinks. I attended and then excused myself, not wanting to be even tardier than I already was. If I had to be honest with myself, I would admit that i had hoped that perhaps he’d say, let’s reschedule because I was obviously pushing things back, pushing him away, before i’d even met him. I’d just gotten my feet again. I was barely even moved in and wanted to sort my life out first.

As I left David heckled me a bit, “where are you going? we just started!” he’d said. “Oh, I have a thing to go to…”, and my voice trailed off a bit, a little embarrassed that I was going off on a blind date. “Aha! a date!”, he’d exclaimed with a small smile. “Oh, I don’t have any expectations…”, I’d said. He looked at me earnestly, and said, “Hey, this could be the one.”

I thought nothing of it and then I met L.

It was easily one of the best dates I’ve ever been on, and then over the course of the following months, I fell head over heels. Somehow, I’d let him in, and L helped make my flat our home. He belonged here. And it was hard, it was so very very hard.

That was a year ago. And although we are no longer together, I still think of him, not of what could have been in the future, but what I would have done differently.

Simon asked me once, as I was sobbing over dinner in an upscale restaurant in SOHO, “well, now that you know what you know now, don’t you think that you should have ended it sooner?”. In my profession, this is what’s called a “leading question”. The expected response is, “Yes, I should have run screaming knowing what I know now.” (And for the record, don’t ask leading questions!)

That however, was not my answer. And I hope it would never be my answer. Knowing what I know now, and knowing that our time was limited, and would eventually come to an end, I hope I would have walked away from the arguing. I would have insisted on having more alone time, so we could both continue growing and developing as individuals, so we can each still get the things done that needed to be done. I would have insisted that he see his friends more so I too could see my friends more. I would have curled up and enjoyed more of those moments.

I would never have given up even one moment less.

And it makes me think this, regardless of how things turn out, isn’t the way that we get there as important? And something that I have been telling my friends who are frustrated in their relationships… if you knew that tomorrow, next week, next month would be the last time that you would ever see your partner, be with him or her, how would you spend your time now? And if you don’t care that you would never see them again, then perhaps this is the time to end it. But if you do care, then perhaps take the time to just enjoy each other, pretend that it’s the last time you’ll ever see them and love them with all your heart with no expectations of anything in return.

The home that was ours, has slowly but surely morphed into one that is mine. A little shoebox. There are a few things that have permanence, things that have started to fall into the backdrop with use. But every now and then, I still see it for the first time, and it still evokes a memory or two.

I can’t remember exactly what she was going on about at this point except that it was just more yelling, more of how I wasn’t doing something properly, how none of my efforts really ever amounted to her being happy, pleased, or proud, and how it always had be done her way, when she wanted it, and with nothing other than absolute obedience.

I remember distinctly, the moments that I’ve stopped loving someone, be it a friend that was once so dear to me, that I loved like a sister or brother, or a lover.  That moment is always the same.  It was always after a string of moments where I would take yet another step towards trying to make something work out, doing yet one more thing in hopes that perhaps this, this is the thing that would finally fix things.

But for those that have fallen in that camp, and lucky for me, those are few and far between, nothing was ever enough.  And my offering a hand, my heart, my friendship in good faith, believing that they were simply going through a rough patch, was just some sort of proof to them that I could not and would not live without them. So regardless of what I’d do, the other party would find fault. And I suspect, because each of them had thought that my love for each of them would mean that I would tolerate their bad behaviour, possibly indefinitely.

And years later, each of them has come back to me, wondering why I’d left it all behind.  How I could have just turned off so quickly after everything. The only thing I can ever tell them is this…

You mistook my kindness for weakness, and I am not weak.

“remind me not to drive to / from LA” I’d txted a friend from one of two pit stops I’d made along the way. “don’t drive to / from LA”, she’d txted back, “fly instead”. I love how I can count on my friends for sage advice more or less after the fact.

I kicked myself mentally. Then I remembered WHY I used to drive it instead, it was always a way for me to catch up with books on tape / mp3s / podcasts.

I fumbled a bit with my droid to find mp3 on innovation and permaculture, all 4 of the podcasts mysteriously died mid way which left me hungry for more info. dammit. I never do seem to have wifi when I truly need it, like in the middle of the central coast. I went back to browsing the “7 signs of evil” and spanish speaking radio shows. Why didn’t I ever learn Spanish? I asked myself. Made a mental note to learn Portuguese again.

After some time, my mind started to quiet a bit, and the assorted things occupying it started to settle. I thought about how L had told me he would never come for me, how painful it was to hear and know this, and the sheer will that it takes for me to try to disassociate, that it is no less than feeling like I have to cut off my own arm. And then as I rolled into Palo Alto for my 4:30 meeting, a wave of sadness hit me. I remember so many happy happy memories of my 6 years in the Bay Area, how I had wanted to go back to NY, as I’d always felt just a little out of place here, and yet, how my closest of friends continue to exist largely here and in London, and not where I live now, a small little spot in the heart of Brooklyn. I start wondering how to start a new tribe, how I’d thought L and I were doing that, and how so frequently, we just have no idea what really is ahead of us.

I sit in my rental car writing this, with a wave of nostalgia hitting me as my phone rings. It’s B, we’re working out dinner plans, and visit plans with my most favourite kid on the planet. And once again, I am grateful that I have this to come back to on occasion, even when I miss it so dearly when I’m officially “home”.

I can’t help but wonder if the new media, and some of those with government affiliations can’t just find a little bit of class.  Death and violence are not things to gloat over, regardless of the conflict.

…”guys just say that they want to stay in touch because they don’t want to be the asshole”
…”oh, he’s never going to call”
…”you’re not a wallower, that’s why you feel so crappy”
…”oh just give it some time, you’ll get over it, you always do”

But here’s what I remember…
…the 10 days that it took him to stencil and paint my bathroom
…the look of pure joy on his face when we woke up
…how he waited hours for me to get out of work, and didn’t complain at all
…how he knew that I knew that we should never ask him mum for her special lasagna recipe, because it’s her way of telling him how much she loves him
…the afternoon he dropped everything for 2 hours, when I had the worst day at work
…the way we worked together to design my closet
…the hours that he’s spent mocking up a design concept of mine
…how proud he was when he’d found out that I was a designer and an engineer
…the way he tried his best to do the right thing, for everyone
…how he’d become my closest friend and confidant
…and that one thursday, when we’d gotten back together again, after a particularly long day at work, he came over to comfort me, we’d quibbled, we resolved it, and then on his way out the door on the way home, he turned around, looked me in the eyes, smiled, and said…

you’re beautiful.

+1 month and slowly, but surely, letting go. And some things, those small wonderful things, I am thankful for. I just need to move them over a little, release my heart further, and focus on what’s ahead of me.

I loved him, I was all in, head over heels, and I’m glad that I experienced it, even if it didn’t last forever, at least for me, it was as real as the day.

And now, onwards.

7 months of I love yous cumulated to one thing, that when he reflected on where he is and his current state, that there was little to no chance of disentanglement within a certain timeframe.

Staying together would just add additional stress to an already stressful situation, he’d said. And he needed to really figure things out and find himself.

I wished him happiness and the best of luck, we said our goodbyes and I drove away. The happiness of our moments dissipated in the wind behind me and I wondered how the strongest connection could essentially amount to nothing at all.

Do the Dutch just call this baby?

“My mom makes the best Dutch Babies.”

It was quite the proud and declarative statement and at age 18, I wasn’t sure what to make of it, especially when my only contextual identification of a Dutch Baby was a small child born in the Netherlands.  RT sounded excited so I went along with it.  Plus, I was meeting him mother (always spoken of in the most esteemed way) for the first time.  I was really nervous.

“Hmm, ok… what else does she make?”, I’d somehow managed to ask gingerly.  Clearly my college boyfriend wasn’t trying to tell me that his mom liked to get it on with Dutch men + umm, you know… right?

“Her Satay is awesome too, as well as her baby jewel cheesecakes, you’ll love them.”

Ok, so he might be talking about food, right?  I finally fessed up.

“I’ve never had a Dutch Baby”, I’d said, feeling a bit unworldly.

His eyes lit up.  I could see him put it on his mental list of things to expose me to.

It’s been very many years since that day, and the subsequent days where I’d stayed with Bobbie + RT and was fed, cared for, and just spoiled in general.  Bobbie has been, and will always be, the most influential person in my life.  I am quite sure of that now.  She got me when I was 18 and helped form me over the years.  I think of her often with a fondness reserved for… I don’t know who, I have never felt this for anyone else.

Over the years, as I’ve met people from different places, I’ve collected their recipes.  My intent has been to preserve a certain moment.  Some of these are foods from tehir childhood, so that in the event that they have a crap day, I can make them something yummy that would take them back.  I know that it will never be as good as their mother’s cooking, but I can only hope that it would bring some comfort to them in some way, especially when they are having a somewhat crap day.

This morning started out as not so nice.  So I thought some good thoughts, remembered Bobbie, her kindness to me over the years, her belief in me, and it cheered me up a bit.  Then I dug up a recipe for a Dutch Baby, and made one for myself.  It’s no where as close to hers in tastiness.  It never will be.  I remembered watching it bake in her apartment in Chicago, the first time I’d taken a flight somewhere on my own, with a great guy by my side and the world ahead of me.  I’d felt at home, at peace, and somewhat invincible.

Fast forward more than a decade + L knocked on my door, looking a little nervous, a little concerned.  We’d argued the night before to no resolution and he’d come over unannounced.  I was a little surprised to see him standing there as I went through my little morning ritual and thought things over from the previous night.  I was a bit amused taht he happened to show up exactly when my Dutch Baby came out of the oven.  And so I shared it, along with my day, with a great guy by my side.