Last summer, I was sitting at a patio bar having a Gin & Tonic talking with a relatively new friend. We were discussing our childhoods. We grew up vastly different. She had an outhouse until age 12 and an abusive household. I had a wonderful upbringing, with close relationships. But, the two of us have a lot in common. We both do not have our parents in our lives – my parents have both died, her mom died and dad is not a part of her life. We both are single – me via divorce, her via choice. She asked me two very interesting questions. 1. Are you angry? 2. Do you have a hole in your heart? She said yes to both and I said no to both. We talked for awhile about this. I could not stay angry at my ex-husband for what he did to myself or more importantly to my daughter. If I held that anger, I would have been stuck. I had to rebuild and live a life full of happiness. I was not going to sacrifice my daughter’s childhood to hold onto anger. When the judge ordered him to have no contact with either of us, we were free. The worry was not gone, but hope crept in and I finally felt I could do this. As far as relationships with other men, that was not going to happen. It took me seven years to even go out on a date. I will never be “all in” again with a guy, because I will never let myself trust like that again. I would not say I have a hole in my heart, because it is full of love for my daughter, family, and friends.

I got home and was in bed, reading a very depressing book about the German takeover of Leningrad.  It was told from the perspective of a young mother. I had to finish it, as heart wrenching as it was. About 3 am, I closed the book, done. Now, I really could not sleep. Between the images of war and the conversation on the patio, my mind was on overload.  The woman in the book, who saw her entire family die, was able to love a new husband.  My story, although deeply heart breaking to me, did not even compare. But is that fair to say? Pain, that is ours, will always hurt in a profound way.

My dad was one of the great men. He worked hard, played hard, was very giving, loving, and successful. At the age of 53, he had a wife of 30 years, six children, a new dream house, a beautiful cabin, and was set for early retirement in two years. My mom and he had the rare summer day alone at the cabin – one group had left and another was to arrive shortly. They played a game of golf, had lunch in “the clubhouse” (Northern Minnesota is not exactly ritzy. I am guessing the bill was under $15, which would have included drinks), and headed back to the cabin. My mom took the dog to walk the dirt road to check the red mailbox. When she returned, my dad had dropped dead from a massive heart attack.

I was 18, about to head off to freshman year of college. I had a new boyfriend and a great group of friends. I had no idea what was going to happen to boyfriend when I left, but we were young and unconcerned. So, after we went through all the stuff that goes with when a family member dies, off I went to college. No real time to mourn – just trying to be strong and get through each day. I knew lots of people going to the school, so making friends was easy. I jumped feet first into the social scene. The “at home” boyfriend was quickly forgotten, but I had not told him that yet. He was the only boyfriend that I ever cheated on, and I did it in grand fashion. I partied for the next four years, only as a good Irish girl could. I changed colleges, dumped the boyfriend, and lived the social life of a college student. Then one day – smack! I met the man I knew I was going to marry. I had not been all in a relationship since high school, but this was game on from the beginning.  No turning back, no cheating, fully immersed for the next 15 years.

When the marriage ended, I became solely focused on my daughter and work that I barely thought about men. Sure, there were a few flirtations here and there, but I was not ready to go out with anyone.  My mom had been sick on and off for a number of years, but last summer I knew would be the last. And guess what happened? I began going out – drinking and even dating. I was always honest from the beginning, that I could not do the relationship thing, but was happy to hang out. I was not dating but also not “not” dating. I was overwhelmed with my mom, work, and my life, that there was no time. But, a good distraction was ok!

After my mom died, the one guy I was not “not” dating and I tried to date, but it never worked. We hung out a lot, but just could never figure it out. It was frustrating, but kept my mind occupied. Then I started to go out on a few dates with someone else. That also stayed casual, and before you know, I am back to acting like my college self. Some hook-ups, random and with people I should know better.  I kept saying to my friends, “I should be a guy’s dream – just want lots of “alone” time, but no relationship. Why do they run for the hills when I say this?”

So, as I laid in bed, at 4 am, I have made a realization. I use guys as a way to not mourn. I make bad decisions and can’t stay with one because I need the distractions. I do not want to be alone with my thoughts or else I will have to deal with some major pain. I can’t be in a relationship either, because then I am too open, too vulnerable. I already am hurting and just can’t even add the possibility of more. Losing my dad, then my husband, then my mom is too much.

My answer to the two questions of if I am angry and if I have a hole in heart is still no, but my heart can’t open until the hurt has faded.

Done

Well, it has been over for awhile, but his toothbrush was still in my cabinet. Today it accidentally fell into the toilet.  I smiled at the symbolism. Done and done.

Jump

After I was engaged, at the age of 22, I used to say, "I figured if I jumped enough, eventually I would land on my feet". Withstanding the fact that meant my college years were more "Girls Gone Wild" then "Real Genius", I had thought I had found it.

Now, I will never regret that I felt that way - I got a beautiful daughter out of a 15 year marriage. As a single 40 something year old, I am back to lots of leaping. I need to do this, as it is the only way I know how. I am not subtle, I am not quiet. I am a bit in your face, tell me what you think. I am weird. I am fun. But all this does not mean I don't hurt. I am still a girl, who feels deeply and hurts deeply, but keeps it hidden well. The other night I was told, after feeling a little sad, that "It is not right seeing you unhappy. You are always happy."

All I ever asked for is honesty, but somehow, I never get that. I think my ankles are about to break from the falls...

Too Much Time in my Head

As previously mentioned, I am currently on “hiatus” from work. Pair that with an awful case of pneumonia, and that means I have been by myself way too much in the last few weeks. After I lost my job, a few nights of debauchery incurred. Some, ah…very, very bad decisions were made. I think I forced myself to hit rock bottom quickly by doing the one thing (ok, person) I should never, never have done. I decided I needed to run and hide for awhile and took my daughter and headed to the cabin. After my detox weekend, we were driving home and I started feeling funny. I had a fever of 101* and coughing like crazy. A doctor’s visit confirmed pneumonia.  After almost three weeks, I am ready to go out again – just in time for St. Patrick’s Day. But, I am worried about reentering a world with real people

Have you ever had this much forced down time in your life? I spent so much time watching hockey and movies with Matthew McConaughey, Kate Hudson, Jennifer Lopez, and Amanda Peet, I thought these people were my new friends.  But mostly, I thought. I thought about everything. Made resolutions about how to handle certain situations, which I would break within hours. Thought about every mistake I had made – specifically the more recent ones. Thought how I had screwed up. This is so unhealthy, but how do you stop your thoughts when you are by yourself? Replaying your life with no perspective, well, sucks. I played out a thousand conversations I was going to have – one minute being very apologetic, another being brazen, and another not saying a word. Of course none of these happened, and when I did communicate with these people, I stammered or texted not what I really wanted. You would think I could stick to a script, but with so many versions, I got so mixed up. I am feeling all out of sorts and I do not know how to make it better. Too much time in my head is not, I repeat, is not a good thing.

Wish me the luck of the Irish – I certainly need it! Hopefully I will have something more fun to write about after the festivities! Beannachtaí na féile Pádraig

St. Patrick's Day

St. Patrick’s Day is, as my dear friend recently said, a high holy day for my family. As long as I can remember, the holiday has been celebrated in grand fashion. Parades, parties, corn beef and cabbage, Guinness, skipping school, shamrocks, green from head to toe, glitter, and lots of family!

When we were in our 20s, mom would set up shop at the house, with a few aunts and uncles. They would serve corn beef and cabbage in waves to all of us. Each kid would stop home at some point post-parade and after a bar or two for much needed food. It wasn’t uncommon that each of us would walk in with 15-20 people; mom would have a plate in each person’s hand before you could say Sláinte. Songs would be sung and the alcohol would be soaked up in the traditionally bland food that mom somehow made flavorful. Then one group would exit as the next came in.

My first apartment post-college happened to be downtown, right on the parade route. A new tradition began of having everyone over starting at 9am for coffee with Bailey’s, beer, or whatever your pleasure with a few green donuts and rolls. And when I say everyone, I mean friends, brothers, sister, their friends, cousins, aunts (including the nun), uncles, and mom. The “older generation” would stay in the apartment and watch the parade from the window (21^st floor), while we would all go down to the parade. One year, the nun was dropping ice cubes down on us – they were like bullets by the time they hit the ground. We all laughed and just chalked it up to the crazy nun. Then my generation would hit all the downtown bars. By 3 pm or so, we would need a little break. We would stumble back to the bar in our building, that was full of blue hairs, and sing Karaoke, eat, and get ready for the night. The blue hairs loved us and our renditions of Guns-n-Roses Jungle Love. Then off to more Irish bars!

The last year in the downtown apartment, we were getting ready to move out the end of March. It was our last St. Paddy’s Day there and we were ready to make it the best ever. Lots was going on life and through all the distraction, I hadn’t realized that something hadn’t happened that was suppose to…I made a doctor’s appointment for the 16^th and boom – after two years of trying, I was pregnant. How does one make it though St. Pat’s without drinking and people not figuring this out? Well, by the end of day, all of St. Paul knew I was knocked up. This just makes St. Patrick’s Day all the more special to me!

The following year, with a four month old baby and a new house, everyone stilled showed up at our place at 9 in the morning. We had a packed house and a couple of elderly women came to the door. I assumed it was someone’s grandparents and let them in. I went to the kitchen and told my sister-in-law I thought her grandma was sitting on the couch. Well, the end of the story is they were Jehovah Witnesses and were in shock!

As the family grew, we started renting out bars to have our own family parties. We would take all the kids to the parade, then get baby-sitters, and go to our own party. Corn beef and cabbage would be served, Guinness Kegs would be flowing, and my cousins Irish Band would be playing. These parties were epic!

I often use St. Patrick’s Day as some people use New Years - a time to take stock of one’s life. From finding out I was pregnant to taking my daughter out of school for the parade, her first limo ride, to having to pretend everything was ok when my life was falling apart, to reclaiming my life. This year is the first one without my mom, which is hard, just as the first one without my dad was. But, it is the family traditions that make a family. My daughter always says it is her favorite day of the year because it is all the family and just about having fun! And family in St. Paul, includes just about everyone we know!

Now, in my still early 40s, I am back to the bar hopping. My daughter is 17, I am single again and it feels just like it did when I was half the age. The day still starts early; the whole family still goes to the parade, and the revelry lives on! But, being a little older has one advantage – a daughter who can pick up her drunken mom, friends, aunts, and uncles! 

The Luck of Random Books

I have a love of books. Actual books. The more used, the better. I love the dog-earred pages, the notes in the margins, the left behind bookmarks (often receipts or pieces of mail). As with most people, I go through stages of reading – some weeks I knock off five books, other times, it a book a month. But, I always have a supply from my local used bookstore, church sales, and friends. One night I complained how all my “reader’ friends have gone to eBooks and I have no one to swap books with and lo and behold, the next day, two friends dropped off boxes of books on my porch. Sometimes you just have to put it out there!

In some of the darkest times of my life, I have submersed myself into reading, as there truly is no better escape. When my daughter and I moved in with my brother for 10 months, I read and read (as did my daughter). I would literally go to the library ever four days and just pick out three books at random, with barely reading the jacket. My philosophy was you learn something from each book. They all have a value. I read some awful books, some poignant books, some erotica, some sappy. But, they all gave me the much needed escape. I would be hard pressed to name any of the titles or authors, but certain snippets stay in your head and heart.

A book I read last summer (another random purchase at the used book store) offered me one of the most profound statements that literally has changed the course of my life. To put this in context, last summer my mom was gravely ill. I was full time working and care giving, moved houses, and was trying to change careers. My social life had been a on a seven year hiatus since my divorce. I was in my new house, reading late at night. I read one line, sat up in bed, and had a moment….

“Go wake up your luck”

For whatever reason, this got into my soul. Soon after this, my friends basically kidnapped me into going out. We happened to meet up with some old acquaintances and made a pack to get out more. From here, I have reconnected in a major way with a whole bunch of friends, dated a few, and feel like I have come out of the darkness.

So, then mom died and I knew I could not stay at my job any longer. The job hunt went into high gear. Had a few interviews. On my fourth interview with one company, the CEO asked me one last question. She said “do you feel lucky”.

Immediately I replied, “you know it is funny you ask that. I just read a book that had the line ‘go wake up your luck’ and recently  I feel as if my luck has been woken up!”

So there you go. The luck of a random book!

Ah Ha, Asshole!

I had an Ah Ha moment the other night. It was one that may seem obvious once you think of it, but it has taken me almost 43 years to get it.

Why are girls always drawn to assholes?

In my previously stated almost 43 years, I have dated many types of guys (even married one for about 15 years). I have been in love, in lust, and in relationships out of sure convenience.  I have had the friend with benefits, the just benefits, and the whole kit and caboodle. These guys have ranged from super intellectual to street smart to dim; from nice to douchbag.

The Asshole 

The Bad: He rarely calls, doesn't follow through on plans, will sometimes ignore you when out, is moody. Pushes you away, then pulls you back in. Your friends usually don’t think you should go out with him.

The Good: Can be very charming, usually good in bed, gets to your soul and connects in ways no else can. Good taste in music, smart, and fun (often shots will be involved in nights out).

The Nice Guy 

The Bad: Can be needy, gets hurt easily, and expects you to be with him all the time.

The Good: He is reliable, is a gentleman, walks you to the door, is always in a good mood, caring, asks you questions about how you are doing, and good to others. Volunteers his time and is involved in the community. Your friends love him.

So why do we pick The Asshole? Here it is – my Ah Ha…

With The Asshole, we know what to expect. He is not perfect, we know this. We have our eyes wide open and just want to hang out and have fun. He is the guy you can stay up all night with, talking about nothing and everything. The sparks are almost visible when you touch. When he does something sweet, it is unexpected and makes us happy. It is a bonus. When he is an ass, we write it off as him just being him. We rarely will let him fully into our lives, as we know this is fleeting (unless he changes…which is a whole different deal).

With The Nice Guy, we have convinced ourselves that he is a nice guy. We go into it very hesitatingly, but soon let our guard down.  We may think, ok, this is how a girl deserves to be treated. Slowly, the connection becomes deeper. Then boom – his assholeness comes out. This hurt is profound. We blame ourselves for getting sucked in – should have known better kind of thing. This is why we get so jaded and protective of our hearts.

So ladies, be careful. And guys, try to be nice!