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Rumi | @wnq-quotes

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All my heart, for all my life.

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Don’t touch the Coral...

While I was on vacation in Belize, I went on a half day snorkel trip. It was my first successful attempt at snorkeling and it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. That whole trip was blissful and nurtured my soul in a way I didn’t realize I needed. I’m longing to go back to the island where I did nothing but ride a bicycle from one end to the other, drink the most exquisite Rum Punches while sitting with fish and ate ice cream twice a day. 

The half day snorkel trip had three major attraction areas you would visit: Coral Garden #1, Shark Ray Alley and Coral Garden #3.  The first Coral Garden was a guided exploration where our guide would swim down, point at a section of coral and then resurface to tell us a little about it. I found out that if you touch coral, often it will die, so it was highly important to watch your fins as we swam rather close on a few occasions. I saw native Angelfish, Blue Parrot fish, some amazingly inky black sea urchins and gorgeous red fire coral, though I was told if you touched this one, you’d have a nasty burn left by the coral; a protection mechanism.  

Shark Ray Alley wasn’t far off, as all of these attractions can be found along the Barrier Reef system about a mile off Caye Caulker, so it was easy to navigate from one to other quickly.  Nurse sharks, gentle and almost baby like sharks, have been trained over the past several generations to be attracted to the engine sounds of local boats, they’ve come know it’s time for food. The local tour guides bring along fresh chum to draw the nurse sharks close to the boats but in a shallow area. I didn’t get brave enough to touch either the sharks or rays, but the feeling of both excitement and terror as I swam gently amongst both was exhilarating. 

Prior to my trip, if you’d asked me what color are the eyes of sting rays, I’d imagine I would have guessed black, but in fact they’re lime green, almost yellowish even.  The birds of the sea, watching a live stingray swim by and the trill on the edge of the fin as it glides through the water is awing. There were so many everywhere that I will admit, I became a bit overwhelmed and started swimming back towards the boat when I noticed a rather large, darkly silver and ominous looking fish prowling in the background. 

Recognizing a predator is a built instinct and my stomach rolled just a bit as I perceived this looming shadow about twenty feet away, just chilling and watching all that was going on. I instinctively guessed that the watchful predator was none other than a Barracuda, but didn’t received confirmation until Coral Garden #3 when my fellow swimmates, Cal and Caroline from California (say that 3x when you’re drunk) confirmed that yes, that was indeed a Barracuda. I’ll spoil the fun now and say, it didn’t attack anyone, it didn’t even attack other fish (gratefully) but either way, just knowing that it was lurking about and had a propensity for aggression did have a small drawback on the overall experience. 

By the time we reached Coral Garden #3, I was a snorkeling pro. I figured out how to dive all the way down to the bottom, so I could observe and watch the tiny little fish hiding in the crevices, spy on a small octopus hiding deep inside a coral cave and navigate resurfacing without trying to drink the ocean. 

My favorite part, other than the Rays, was feeding the local Turpin fish. Turpin can grow up to 7-8 feet in length and are often found in the deeper water around the Caye. When they’re small though, they live in the shallow area on the west end of the island. We crawled back into the boats, cold and sun burnt, to be rewarded with fresh cut fruit courtesy of our guide. He then drove us around, through the Split ( the divide between the North and South Cayes, which was created by the hurricane of 1961) and to the West side of the island. 

After cutting the engine, you could easily see through the crystal clear water, giant 4-5 foot “baby” Turpin swimming around the boat. Our guide asked who wanted to go first feeding the fish. Turpin do not have teeth, that being said, they do have a very sharp gum line that, if they catch your finger, is going to hurt like a mutha. I went first and I did good, no finger snapping for me, but HOLY HERA!! Having a 4 foot fish launch, and I mean lauch, itself out of the water to grab a small silver fish out of your hand is terrifying and wonderful at the same time. I’m an admitted adrenaline junkie and I will say, I could do that a hundred times and I’m pretty sure my heart would still feel like it was going to explode out of my chest, every time. 

I went to Belize on a dare to myself: first that I could, just because I wanted to and secondly to prove I could have an amazing trip on my own. I conquered all that and more. Day three.

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You’ve got a heart as loud as lions so why let your voice be tamed?

Emili Sandé (via wnq-music)

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If you wish to be a warrior prepare to get broken, if you wish to be an explorer prepare to get lost and if you wish to be a lover prepare to be both.

Anonymous (via wnq-anonymous)

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A little slice of paradise

Every year for my birthday, I buy myself something that I really want. Usually it’s something stupidly expensive or I go out and spend money on a ridiculous dinner mostly consisting of expensive scotch.  For my thirtieth birthday though, I wanted something else. I dared myself to go on a trip alone, out of country. The prospect was tantalizing and unnerving. Isn’t this how people go missing? But having a friend that had traveled many times overseas by herself, I perked up the courage that I was going to do this. So one night, on impulse I bought a ticket to Belize. I’d wanted to go the year before but hadn’t, and I’d already heard plenty of great things about visiting there. So Caye Caulker in May; it was decided.  I booked an Air Bnb for 3 days, 2 nights and I was going to paradise. 

The issue of getting to Caye Caulker from my flight arrival destination of Belize City was my first concern. Doing some research I found that I could take an airport shuttle to the Water Taxi dock, where a roundtrip ticket of $30 would get me to Caye Caulker in about 45 minutes. My flight arrived in BC at 5:00 PM and the last water taxi for Caye Caulker ran at 6:00. It was a twenty minute drive from the airport to the water taxi, so I would make it with time to spare. The only part that I was really, truly concerned about was the part where I had to ride by myself from the airport to the water taxi. What if someone tried to kidnap me? What would I do? I dug a little further and couldn’t find any instances where this had occurred in Belize City. BC had gang trouble, and there were plenty of reports about robberies on the islands, but violence towards tourists....tsk, tsk. Tourism is vital to Belize and in that, it seems they’re concientious of catching a bad rap and rightfully so, if a county whose main export is tourism, the last thing they want is people going missing. Either way, I made sure when I checked my bag that I had a knife in a top pocket. 

The rental was set, tickets purchased, plan of how to get to said paradise discerned and it was a “Go on ‘Go’ for launch”. I didn’t really want too much of a plan. I wanted to feel it out. I knew of a few good places to eat to avoid wasting money on places over priced or dull, and seeing as how the Caye was only five miles long (you could ride a bicycle from one end to the other in ten minutes) and my rental provided a bicycle, I didn’t have to worry about transportation costs otherwise.  Because the island is so small, there are no cars there except for a few government trucks that handle utilities issues. If you need a “taxi” you can hitch a ride on a golf cart for about $5. 

The day came and I was way over packed (though I tried really, really hard not to be). The plane ride was easy and full of anticipation, I just had to get to the water taxi and it would be alright. We landed and disembarked on the tarmac, headed into Customs, and once cleared I hit up the duty free shop. I thought it might be a good idea to bring some sort of alcohol along for the room, I wasn’t sure about prices on the island and unfortunately, I opted that tequila was a good choice (Seriously??). I hailed an airport taxi and as suspected, I was forced to ride alone; local drivers won’t do fare splitting and truthfully I can understand it from their point of view, though at the time I was just nervous as hell. The ride to the water taxi dock went fairly quickly, my driver was considerate and made small talk. The only frightening part of the trip there was when, going through town, the streets became so narrow and tight that I could literally reach out the rolled down window and touch a parked car a foot away. We arrived at the dock where I promptly exited the taxi, thanked the nice driver (and God that I arrived in one piece) and headed to buy my boat ticket. 

All luggage is checked at the front of the Water Taxi port and once your ticket is purchased, you have nothing to do but kill time. There are several convenience shops located just outside the ticket office and being warm, excited and happy that I’d made it through the difficult part of my trip, I decided to grab a local beer. I headed into Atlas Tours to buy a Belikan lager, the local brew of choice and when told it would be $5, had enough sense to know whether to ask if that was in US or Belizian money. Eric, the owner, a scrawny, rugged and entirely too rascally for his own good man, came around the counter threw his arm over my shoulder and said, “Ah, see I knew you pretty and smart.” Cheeky and cliche, but I couldn’t help but smile anyway. He gave me the password for the Wi-Fi connection and checked on me several times while I drank my cerveza and let my near and dear know where I was. 

A few tables down from me, a trio of your typical, Caucasian frat boys were making a ruckus. A local vendor was trying to sell them a box of cigars and they were haranguing each other over whether it was worth what he was asking. There were a handful of other tourists around, an older couple from France and the rest were locals. Quickly, 5:45 PM came around and it was time to get in line. I finished my beer, thanked Eric again and this time he advised that once I reached the Caye I needed to find a buddy of his’s bar and that I’d know it because it was right off the landing pier when I arrived. “The local sports bar, Errie budy goes d’ere,” he said and I assured him I’d look into it. As I was standing in line to load, I heard a loud clash of glass, the unmistakable sound of a bottle braking and turned to find that one of the “Frat boys” and dropped his beer in his in intoxication. “No wonder other countries aren't fond of Americans,” I’d thought. 

The boat trip was sublime. I popped a tab of Dramamine to be safe, of which I was grateful I did, though the ride was relatively smooth. I watched the sun start to sink below the horizon as we finally approached Caye Caulker’s dock. Once my bag was loaded onto the trailer and pulled towards mainland, I located it and loaded it into a local taxi boy’s golf cart, his name was Steven. A short three minute drive from the peer and Steven let me off at Colinda Cabana, where Juan and his wife Emelita, the local managers were waiting to meet me, all smiles despite the late hour. I signed all the necessary entry papers and Emelita showed me to my cabana. 

It was perfect. No air-conditioning, but then again the temperature on the island was ideal. Not cold, not hot, not too humid, perfect. The cabana came with a full size bed, enclosed bathroom, mini fridge, lights and a fan and my enchanted heart melted. I thanked her, immediately logged into the WiFi to send my, “I’m here! I made it!” messages and then I was off, I wanted to explore, and to find dinner. 

I took my bike and headed back down the main drag Steven had, only just a half hour beforehand, taken me down. I recognized a few names of restaurants and settled on the highly ranked Habanero’s. Belikan took me to dinner, Belikan was so considerate. I will say the other tourists glanced at the peculiar young woman dining alone, but only for a brief moment and for none of those moments did I care a single cent. I was there. 

After an amazingly delicious dinner of Voodoo crab cakes, I took my bike and decided to get a quick assessment of the main area before it got too late. As I’ve said, Caye Caulker isn’t very big at all and in a matter of a few minutes I’d already established my West, North, East and South directions as well as a few of the cross streets in the event I got a little turned around later. 

I rode down towards the Lazy Lizard, which is located on The Split, a divide created by a hurricane in 1961 which seperated the island into two sections, but it was already closed for the evening as it’s more of day time hot spot. I rolled back down what I dubbed “Main Street” and located the bar Eric had recommended, Barrier Reef. 

As Eric had described, Barrier Reef was indeed just North of where the landing dock is located, by about twenty feet in fact. You can’t miss this place. Though I had arrived on a Friday evening, the place was “a hopping” by even H-Town standards.  People from all different areas of the world had convened under this one, tin roofed bar to get down to 90′s pop and R&B music under the stars; to dance their cares away in paradise. 

As with attempting to park anywhere in downtown Houston, I was immediately afronted with the task of trying to decide where to chain my bike as everyone on the island had ridden their bike there as well (conundrum #1). As I stood surveying for a spot where I might be able to squeeze in, “Just stick it in there anywhere. It really doesn’t matter, I promise.” I jerked my head to the left to find a young man, all of whom I deamed the elding age of maybe twenty one in front of me. 

“Seriously, your bike has a number on the basket. Everyone local knows it’s a Colinda bike. No one’s going to steal it.”

The young man could see the peristance and hestiation in my face. He helped me locate a suitable spot next to a pole and chained up the bike. “My name is Colin. My dad is a...basically an expat that lives here. I’m visiting.” I thanked him for his help and inside we went. 

Chanceably the largest building on the island not a Chinese hotel, the Barrier Reef is a local Expat owned sports bar, and arguably the safest bar on the island. The drinks are strong and very cheap. BR is home to a drink called Lizard Juice, of which no one but the few bartenders know what it’s concocted of and won’t say upon pain of death, but suffice to say it’s the island’s version of a Long Island Iced Tea crossed with an Icee; it’s very yummy. But being as it was my first night on the island, ans I wasn’t looking to have a raging hangover the next day, I opted instead for a Rum Punch. Belizian rum is unlike other Carribean rum, which is sweeter, spiced and has an almost sickly after taste. Travellers, the aptly named BR rum is much more mild, smoother and when mixed when freshly squeezed juices, provided my poison of choice for the entire weekend. 

Colin and I small talked for a while and he gave me some background history on the island, how the Chinese had been coming into buy land freshly granted to local eighteen year old Belizians, but in being typical eighteen year olds, they cared less about owning land as having money and so quickly deeded their governmental inheritance over to companies looking to capitalize on Belize’s growing tourist trade. After several more drinks, I decided it was time to head back to my neck of the woods. Being kindly and gentlemanly, Colin asked if he could ride along with me to make sure I returned back safely, and finding myself a stranger in a strange land, I agreed.

A short ride later, we arrived back at my cabana. I thanked Colin for his company and escort, and then said my goodnights with the possibilty of reconvening our discussion the next evening at the same location. With Colin’s departure, it was finally time for me to explore the one thing I was most eager for on this trip. 

Colinda Cabana was host to a 100 foot long pier accessible within just another 100 feet of my front door. Grabbing a bottle of water, I headed out in anticipation of what I would see. All the pictures on Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr blogs, and even Nasa posts, couldn’t have prepared me for the feeling I had that first night when I was really, truly able to look up at the night sky. In Houston, there are so many lights, you’re lucky if you’re able to even discern a satellite light, let alone any actual star light and my yearly visits home to Kansas, were often the few and only times I was able to glimpse something that many of us take so sadly forgranted, the beauty of the night sky. 

There, sitting in an Adirondack chair facing South, with the soft wind of the sea in my face, I was able to see the constellations I so loved. Orion, easily the most recognizable, than the Big Dipper, and one particular gem, the Southern Cross appeared in a way that I had never seen before. The magnificence of the Milky Way Galaxy treading cloudy and lazy overhead overtook me in the way more power than that it had the first time I was projected such image in a Planetarium so many, long years ago. Here though, it was real. 

There are a few moments in life where we are presented the chance to take in just how little we really are, what minor insignifigance in the grand scheme of all time and Life our individual lives mean, how fast of a blink we are to all that is and this was one of those moments. It’s one of those snapshot pictures that I know I’ll take with me the rest of my life. I stayed out there for probaby an hour, just sitting in that chair and feeling everything that was and could be. I find I go back to that place in times of stress or frustration, a little reminder that my little emotion is just that, little. 

After having drank in as much as my eyes could for one evening and feeling rather tired from the day, I retired back to my cabana. Laying there in the coolness of the strange dark, listening to the normal hum of a box fan, I drifted off to sleep realizing that for the first time in a long while, I couldn’t wait to open my eyes again. Day one. 

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So I know a Ginger

A good friend of mine left her marriage of twelve years and the end of last year and took up with her lover. Her new man is a very wonderful, kind and emotional soul that takes genuinely good care of her and her new situation is much better than her former marriage was, on many levels. In January, knowing I was without any current beau and was actively perusing the dating the scene, she recommended to me one night, “So I know a Ginger, well another Ginger...,” her new lover is of the Irish persuasion, “And if I wasn’t with my Ginger, I’d have been all over this one. I think you’ll like him.” Friends mean well, but rarely do friend setups work and it usually leaves the setup parties feeling a little awkward and embarrassed. 

The night I was introduced to Red, I had just left a rather awkward first date w/ the man I dubbed Coach, a brutal first date in it’s own right.  In an attempt at salvaging what was left of my ego from the former encounter, I headed out to a country watering hole to watch a local band I’m friends with, as a good handful of my other friends were also in attendance. I hit the door and immediately headed straight for the bar and a pail of beer (non-liquor type of watering hole). I scanned around, located my tribe and noted that my friend and her new lover were also in attendance. I joined the group, popped a beer, took a nip of whiskey from a generous friend’s flask and turned my attention to listening to the band. My friend, TQ, turned to me and said, “Hey! He’s here too!” At the look of confusion on my face she said, “The Ginger,” and pointed to a lone figure sitting by the window. Dressed in a black fedora, black leather jacket, chains at the pocket and sporting some colorful neck tats, I wondered exactly what it was that my friend would think I’d find so appealing in this roguish stranger (Sidenote: As I came to be friends with him, I will say that  Red is a handsome ginger and he’s quite possibly one of the gentlest, sweetest and most pacifistic souls I’ve ever encountered in my life, secondly (spoiler alert) the five minute test determined that he was another safe guy).

Seeing as how I had 10 beers I had to get rid of, I offered him one and struck up some small talk. He was a tattoo artist (explained the neck tats), loved working on old cars, rode a motorcycle and played guitar. I told him how I was a legal admin by day and a derby girl by night, that I had cats and fish tanks and couldn’t play an instrument to save my life. We became fast friends. Over the next several weeks we spent time going to old car shows, discussing motorcycles and sharing different styles of vinyl records, but it was sporadic. Red, didn’t like phones and he wasn’t much into communication. I’ve said before that we live in a day and age where everyone is attached to their phones, but pretends to be unavailable, well Red was the opposite case.

 As a lone wolf, I'm all about having your own space. Typically though I’d hear from him once a week, to meet up for a few hours at a time and after a very short time I wasn’t interested in putting forth any more effort into trying to track him down to hang out. It’s an inherent rule that I have, that I do not chase men. I don’t feel like anyone should really have to chase any potential mate, though I concede there are some people that only know how to date that way. “If someone is interested in you, you’ll know,” A quote from TK, my female soulmate. 

After about a month of getting strange and mixed signals, I’d finally had enough and said something about it. He admitted he was bad about communication and he could try to be better about it, but we both knew that he really wouldn’t be and he was just trying to be nice. See the thing was, Red had just gotten out of a very serious two and a half year relationship about 3 months prior to our meeting at the watering hole. That was disclosed to me on the night we met, and even then I could see he carried around a wounded heart, because he initially pursued me, I said, “Okay.” 

Red cared, he just wasn’t really interested  in putting his heart back on the line and the Universe knows I understood all about that.  Also knowing my own private feelings about him being another safe guy, well it was actually pretty easy to level things out and call a spade a spade; hey it looks like I’m maturing after all. We’re still friends and every once in a while I run into him. For his own sake, I hope his heart heals up soon, heartache is a total bitch. 

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The Brazilian

The date started out fine, small chit chat, get-to-know-you, we know how this goes. I shared some of my hobbies and interests, he shared some of his. Things were going alright and maybe it was just how easily the drinks were going down, but one moment he’s talking about growing up in Rio and the next minute, I shit you not, the words, “When we have kids, I’ll take you there,” come out of his mouth and that’s at which point, I looked at my friend tending bar, who equally had a look of alarm on their face, excused myself and high tailed it the bathroom to regroup.

After a quick pep talk in the mirror consisting of something along the lines of, “Ha ha he’s just drunk, or maybe a little unstable, but you’re totally in control of this. Go show him who’s boss, Tiger,” I emerged from the bathroom. I retook my spot, noticing that my seat was much closer to his now. I sat down (side note: these chairs are the fun bar top chairs that are circular and you can swing around on when tipsy, but one too many times around and you’ll fall off, injuring yourself...I’m sure), within a minute and a half, Mr. I-wanna-be-your-baby-daddy proceeds to grab my knee and swings me towards him so we can be face-to-face. Okay, I’m really not liking this situation and like a cornered animal, I realize my eyes keep darting towards the direction of the door behind him. Not wanting to be completely rude (I know, I’m one of those girls ie: I’ll still put up with bullshit on the pretense of being a lady) I politely listen to him chatter a bit more, indicate that it’s really rather late and I have work the next day.

The bill is paid, he kindly walks me to my car and then comes that moment. I have to say this is the either the best part of the date or the worst part of the date, I’ll let you take your guess on which way this one went! He leaned in and I turned my head, I almost ducked entirely but I was trapped by an arm. I am thirty years old, you’re not kissing me unless I damn well want you to. Not even five minutes later I’m getting texts about how wonderful I am and listen, if this was a guy I reciprocally liked back, this is what every woman would want to hear, which brings me to an important point. I know within five minutes of meeting a man whether or not we have an actual, potential future together and I’m not talking about the safe guys. Five minutes and becoming really, incredibly scared on my part because I know what this feeling means now. That feeling, once established, will remain until it’s put out by said guy, which usually means lots of tears on my end when they walk away. This ending has happened twice so far, does that mean third time is the charm?

Back to Mr. Brazilian. He was nice and had good qualities about him, but I knew within that five minute span of meeting him, he wasn’t getting a second date. Of my own admission, it was wrong that I didn’t immediately say that to him, but the thing was, he was leaving the next day to go to Spain for two weeks for a friend’s wedding. In his absence, I too would be leaving the country on a vacation and after all it, it was just one date, so I thought I’d just tell him when he returned. The day I was to leave for my vacation, I get an overseas text messages with lots of great pictures from Spain. They’re beautiful, but I’m getting ready to leave, as in, I’m boarding the plane ready to leave, so I didn’t respond. I’d told him I was going to be out of the country and not knowing if he would get charged an international rate (because I haven’t been to Europe and I wasn’t sure how that worked), I’d respond when I got back. On day three of my vacation, I receive a text from him. “I sent you a message and never heard back from you. I guess it turns out you are not into relationships and nice guys!”  Whoa. Here I am, on an island in the middle of the ocean, on my vacation, getting chastised and told what I like by a guy who said, “When we have kids.” on a first date.....-_-  ( I like emoji’s). I wanted until two days AFTER I got back to the states to politely reply that indeed, I do like nice guys and I’m all about relationships, I”m not into rude, impatient and pushy Brazilians, thanks but no thanks. And that, as they say, was the end of that.

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Here mousey....

The law of attraction is based on the principle idea that if you give serious concentrated effort towards a positive thought, it will be drawn to you. So based on this, if you really, really want something, and you take the necessary steps to put yourself out there, that positive idea will happen! As with all things however, this is much easier said than done.  I’ve taken the steps and I’ve been putting myself out there for five rigorous months. So, what have I learned since then? Let’s review.

There have been some flash in pans, a few doozies (Just take my advice and if the Brazilian starts getting pushy, push right back - more to follow on that one), a few Frost-esque divides in the road and one promising, quintessential covered bridge.  

We’ll begin with the flash-in-the pans. In this crazy world of online dating, where everyone is absolutely tied to their phone (I know you read that message, it SAYS Read: 11:15 AM and now it is 3:00 PM with no response. Does he still like me? Did I say the wrong thing?), but everyone pretends to be unavailable, there are a lot of start/stop meetings and conversations. In all honesty, I was way over this societal modus operandi within week one of being on all dating apps, but as I had made the agreement with myself that we were going to give this a real shot, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again (eye-roll). 

Most dating analysts have advised that women get better feedback when they do the initiating and so I took it upon myself to go out of my comfort range, while still adhering to some general principles. First, you cannot be more attractive than me (sorry pretty boys with washboard abs, I don’t find that attractive any way, I digress). Secondly, you have to have a decent education level. I’ll be the first to admit, I didn’t finish college, which I regret, but my life experience and calculated logic allows me to carry along in most circles relatively well, and I’m driven enough to have my own hobbies, so I’d like someone that can teach me things as much as I can teach them, I don’t know, other stuff. Third, you have to have a decent job. I’m not a gold digger, I pay for my own life, but I’ve also learned through experience that, just because I can be friends with a guy that’s a manager at a local deli, ultimately my world and their world are too different to typically relate and it just doesn’t work. My point being, for many of us, work is where we spend the vast majority of our time, and thus our lives, and if you can’t see why yelling and utilizing dictatorial behaviors towards teenagers isn’t working for you, I don’t think you’ll be able to sympathize with the banality of printing the same document twenty times for one person every day. Fourth, you do have to fit somewhat into my type: dark hair, dark or fair eyed and not skinny as a rail. Look, some girls love the super skinny guys, not me, I just can’t. I’ve tried not once, but twice and I can’t do it.  Anyway, that’s it! Not too bad right? Oh, I forgot, you do have to be 40 and under, but still you’d think that there would be several right? And that’s where you’re wrong.

After swiping left on, what I can only guesstimate to be 95% of all men on all of the dating sites, the few that I messaged might send me a “Having a great week, hope you are too!” back and then that was it, nada, niente. One guy chatted me up just long enough for me to like his photography Instagram account and then ghosted (WTF? People do that?!?). I did have a couple of conversations that lasted a few weeks, one potential meetup, but most of them faded into what they were before, nothing. Then, there was the doozie of a date with the (pushy) Brazilian.  I say pushy, but he would disagree and say passionate. I will say there is nothing wrong with being passionate, however on the first and only date we would have, he proceeded to accelerate from 0 to a 100 in a matter of hours, which is the fastest than anyone has potentially tried to marry me.

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My unwind...

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You are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffering.

Ernest Hemingway (via quotemadness)

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When you love and accept yourself, when you know who really cares about you, and when you learn from your mistakes, then you stop caring about what people who don’t know you think.

Beyoncé (via quotemadness)

Queendom

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Wish we could Talk Again. But now, we’re just strangers with a lot of good memories and shared secrets.

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http://iglovequotes.net/

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Do you love the ocean? And could you love the ocean with me?

simple things // ziggy alberts (via twentay)

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Am I doing it right?

So I’m back! Back from the big birthday bash in NOLA where I ate scrumptious food and indulged in so many cocktails, I’m impressed I didn’t grow a tail (ha!). On my birthday, as one of my traditions while I’m in NOLA, was to go visit the soothsayers, mystics and palm readers camped out in front of St. Louis Cathedral.  Little card tables, pop-up chairs and tea lights litter the area almost 24/7 I’d hazard, as it’s full during the day as well, however there’s something about night time readings that, for me feel like maybe we are touching some universal telephone line; Michael, the Mystic, was the lucky draw this time. I’d like to side note that, as stated above this is one of my little NOLA traditions and the last time I had a reading done, it focused primarily on my career.  This time around though, it was fully centered around my love life (oh gee, fun. You mean lack of right?). 

In the last decade, I’ve had two long term relationships ( about 4 years each) and a series of small trysts, but nothing that lasted longer than 3 months in the last two years. The first long relationship, was emotionally strong for me; I loved him with a ferocity that only blind innocence can. Coming out of that, heartbroken and scarred, the next long relationship was one out of a sordid convenience (and I’m not proud of that either), but in my defense, we did help each other grow in many ways. Ultimately I left that relationship for the betterment of both our lives.  I spent a year attempting a long-distance relationship with a man, that to this day, is still a person I consider to be my best friend, though I’ve broken his heart and treated him cruelly, in a way I’d wish never to be treated, his love for me still holds strong. Then unicorn guy came along (post #2) which was great (until it wasn’t) but it gave me a glimpse of that feeling, the excitement, the drive, the passion.

See the problem is, people love me, they fall in love with me and they describe this love in a way....I’m not sure I can understand.  And that therein lies the problem.  I’ve spent so much of my time in actual “relationships” dating the “safe guy,” the one I know I won’t commit to long term, the one that if they walk away, it will hurt, but I won’t be lying on the floor with a bottle of whiskey, listening to Lana Del Rey songs in the dark until I’ve lost 10 lbs. And I’ve been fine, running on my own, no cares, even boasting about how great it is to not answer to someone but...then there’s the but. Last night, taking out my trash to the raccoon dumpster (no seriously, it’s theirs now,) I thought, “God, I’m getting kind of tired of taking out my own trash all the time, or unloading the groceries alone, or being scared of the dark sometimes...” and that’s when it hit me: I’m there again.  The last breakup I had, left me on the floor, and as completely natural, I rejected any notion of going there again, until now. 

So back to Michael, the Mystic: I pulled some pretty love centered cards and rightfully so. Two stuck out the most: The Empress and the 10 of Swords.  The Empress card is fairly self explanatory: I rule my life with a mighty hand, I know what I want, and I’m not keen to negotiate on how I want things.  The 10 of Swords though I should explain a bit. In the Classic Rider Tarot deck, the 10 of Swords is a picture of a blindfolded woman, stuck in mud, and surrounded by ten swords in the shape of an L. The interpretation is that she’s afraid to move, because she’ll be cut, since she can’t see what direction is open to her. Every time she puts her hand out, she’s cut, but in order to escape, she’s going to have to be cut a few times.He said to me, “You’ve put a lot of time and effort into the wrong relationships, but you learned something. Just think what it will be like when you put that kind of effort into the right one.”  Soooo....if I want to find that person, the one that is Mr. Sexy, independent, travel lover who is interested in living their life but wants an equally amazing woman who rules her own life....well, I guess I’m going to have to get cut a few times to find them. This is also the same interpretation as kissing a bunch of frogs, either way, I’m not keen on what I’m going to have do, but hold on while I adjust my lipstick boys. Okay; Now, come at me.