Who loves you, baby? YOU should love YOU.

Staring at that wall, I sometimes forget my legs are moving at all.  This is where I go when I am angry, happy, thoughtful, excited, scared or confused. Truthfully, it's usually never just one of those that drives me there, it's usually two or more.

This past week, my blank wall held the secret to a recurring nightmare that I've had since about  the age of 5. The dream begins delightfully enough on gently rolling green hills. The sky is blue and the sun, the brightest yellow. I'm the only one out there. Nothing is nothing wrong with this picture, it's perfect. I find myself running on these hills - fast and free. It's pure joy. Slowly, I lose my step, and my legs can't keep the rhythm to the point when I am eventually crawling and dragging myself along the green grass.  I look all around and there doesn't appear to be a cause for my new disability - the  weather is great, I'm not sick, there's no mud - nothing. I just can not.  At this point,  I manage to wake myself up. I never stick around to find out how the story ends because being stagnant is too painful.

Last week, running under those full-spectrum light bulbs (a purchase made back in 1997 prior to a move to Vancouver, WA in preparation for the overcast, Pacific NW winters) I felt warm and happy and  in a state of "flow". The song "Unknown Caller" by U2 began and I heard these lyrics (and by the way, I never liked this song until this day):

Force quit and move to trash
I was right there at the top of the bottom
On the edge of the known universe where I wanted to be
I had driven to the scene of the accident
And I sat there waiting for me
Restart and re-boot yourself
You're free to go
Oh, oh

Shout for joy if you get the chance
Password, you enter here, right now
Oh, oh

You know your name so punch it in

And for some reason, my running dream came to mind and I thought, "It's okay to let her go." Stop hanging on to the gal who really likes to eat sugar, who looks in the mirror and cringes, who wallows in ruminations that serve no purpose, who worries entirely too much about things and people, who discounts her own accomplishments (but, has no problem recalling failures), who seems to thwart any forward progress for lack of self love and manages to create a secret inner world of melancholy. In other words, get up and start running again: I am the reason I can not run.

And that is where the great chasm lies. I do not recall feeling a sense of self love or worth throughout my life. I shoved self love and narcissism in the same box. They weren't so different to me and so, I held on to the idea that they were both bad, bad, bad. If you loved yourself so much, you certainly wouldn't feel the need to improve any negative characteristic about yourself. (This is just the sort of black/white thinking that causes so much harm on this planet.  I'm an expert at it so, if you'd like to know how NOT to think about things, call me.) The great "kick in the gut", which almost sent me flying off of the treadmill, was that the opposite is true: If you do not realize your self worth, you will never, ever feel better or do better.

So what does it take for you to realize that you are worth the trouble? What does it take for you to realize that taking care of your Self spiritually, mentally and physically is a worthwhile labor of love? When do you accept that you matter? Maybe the answer is when you begin to reflect upon your life. Personally, I found myself to the point of exhaustion.  Reliving and debating decisions long gone, grasping for missed opportunities and living in the past while the present patiently waited, but eventually walked on  - it was a tiresome and spiritually draining way to exist. I looked in the mirror and can sometimes only see the gorges between my eyes - where I carry worry and anxiety.  When I see those Botox ads, they ask, "Do you have an 11 on your forehead?"  No, actually, I have 1,111 on my forehead AND I don't have to make a stupid face to achieve that look.

Botox.com...erasing your emotions one injection at a time.

And a year ago, I found myself at a crossroads. While I had worked on the outside, the inside was still suffering. There was no peace and that's when I stopped moving...  just like in my nasty, little nightmare. I quit. I stopped some of the things I loved: volunteering, CrossFit, being engaged with others. I, quite literally, quit. Do you remember when Forrest Gump stopped running? I mean, he just stopped. That was me.

What a profound infirmity: the dissociation between the inner misery and the outer robustness. I (and probably you) can not function that way. As Buddy the Elf would say, I sat "on a throne of lies." Fortunately, despite the discord and upon aching reflection, I discovered that some of that wholeness from my outer-shell had oozed its way into my spirit. For the first time in my life, I realized my self imposed doom. Oh my God, I was the human Eeyore! When Michael asked me how much time I thought I had in this life and he emphatically stated, "You only get one shot at this," I began to feel Eeyore's stuffing fall out. I was listening and more importantly, believing.

The reality is, that somehow, someway, someday - you and I have to find the strength to take a truthful look at ourselves. It's not that pretty at times, but turn the page and guaranteed, you will find at least one positively, breath-taking quality about yourself (if you are having trouble finding one, contact me...I know I can find one for you). What is working and what isn't? What hurts us or holds us down? We attach ourselves to negative people, acts, and thoughts which become habitual, but the beauty of it is that we can detach ourselves, too! Maybe you need a little help doing that... and that's okay. We are THAT powerful when we embrace the fact that we are loved. And the love that matters the most is the extraordinary kind that we give to ourselves.

Michael asked me, after my run, what he should put on the white brick wall. He had considered a Portland Timbers pennant or poster. As much as it pained me to deny the Timbers a spot on the wall, I asked him to leave it blank.

And I sat there waiting for me

Restart and re-boot yourself

You're free to go

Oh, oh

Shout for joy if you get the chance

....

You know your name so punch it in
U2

https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=5&v=YMzfeV2GE0M

http://www.timbers.com/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flow_(psychology)

http://marmonmuscle.com/  :  CrossFit Williamsburg, where a lot of the outer strength made my brain start thinking the inside could be just as resilient.

How to Meet A Husband

When I moved to Baltimore after graduating from college, I decided to go to culinary school. I don't really know why. In hindsight, divine intervention must  have placed me there. A friend and I (she had moved to a new city, too) had agreed to answer three personal ads. This way, we could cut through all the BS and connect with potential suitors (aka we were not good at socializing and were too shy to talk to any men). When I tell this story, people say, "Oh, you met online!" No. This was back when only a few folks had desktop computers and when you wanted to connect to the internet, you would hear a screeching sound and then several sounds similar to what a coiled mattress spring might sound like when it bursts out of the cushioning. Not only that, but it took about 10 minutes to connect. The answer is no. We met through the "City Paper" - a gritty, urban "newspaper" found in all diners and seedy corners of Baltimore.

True to my agreement, I responded to the three ads. Bachelor #1: Mystery man who liked Salsa dancing, cooking and who requested over and over that we meet for the first time at his apartment (which was probably a buried school bus..think Kimmy Schmidt). Naturally, he got the ax just as I might have...along with duct tape, a gag and a roofie. No thanks, Norman Bates. Bachelor #2: Nice voice, charming med student on a Caribbean island who was home for the holidays. We agreed to meet at the Inner Harbor - in public, I'd have witnesses. I don't remember how we identified one another, but we did. Perfectly nice gentleman...dressed nicely, clean cut and very desperately wanting a companion (then again, so was I...I was responding to personal ads, after all). While I enjoyed his company, the announcement, "When you meet my family at Christmas time...", scared the hell out of me. He spoke those horrifying kind words and the magic died more quickly than a mother in a Disney movie. Bachelor #3: Looking for someone "liberal in thought, but conservative in values," likes going to museums and being outdoors. Could it all possibly be true or was it too good to be true? I decided to find out by meeting him at The Admiral's Cup in Fell's Point.

Nervous energy got the best of me. I managed to lock myself out of my apartment. My apartment on St. Paul Street was a hell-hole. It wouldn't have been the end of the world had I never regained entry. Brown "water" leaked from the ceiling above into my tub, and the hole underneath the kitchen sink allowed wafting clouds of marijuana smoke from my neighbor's apartment seep into mine (but I didn't inhale). Of course, this also meant I was locked out of my minty green Toyota Tercel. Oh well, I got a cab and eventually found myself doing a pedestrian drive-by past the Cup's window. There he was, he was as handsome in person as he was on paper.

 I sat next to him and we engaged in a nice conversation while he ordered a beer for me.  Let it be known: I hate beer. I pulled the 'ol, "Oh just pick one for me," because: 1. I don't know any beer names  and 2. What's the difference? They all taste like hay anyway. That beer was politely sipped for a few hours.

Michael's covert plan of meeting at a bar was directly related to the perceived success of the evening. If we were incompatible, we could escape immediately after the beer. If it went well, we could progress to dinner. We progressed to dinner. (By the way, I noticed Michael had really great teeth. They looked strong, like a caveman's teeth. I mean that in a nice way...it seemed like such a primal thing to notice. I'm telling you the truth, though - ridiculously fabulous chompers.) The decision was made to go to The Wild Mushroom, but to get there, we had to ride in his car.

Riding in a stranger's car? Had my parent's taught me anything?  Apparently they had not. I was ready for such a moment. In my pocket, I carried law enforcement quality pepper spray. Below is a picture of a very similar can. As you can see, it resembles a fire extinguisher and it sprayed like a fire hose. Weeks earlier, I tested the spray with my friends in the alley-way behind my apartment - big, big mistake. The heavy stream ricocheted off of a brick wall and the droplets (and it only takes a few) sent us into uncontrollable coughing fits and stung our eyes so that all we could do was walk in circles and bump into each other laughing and crying all at once. With my trigger finger ready, we hopped in the car (not the sports car, but the Ford Taurus next to it - another reason I love my husband - he is sensible when you REALLY need
sensibility).

We had a terrific meal and the date continued on to Funk's
Democratic Coffee Spot. Funk's is now defunct - a great little hole in the wall that once offered to pay me "under the table" to make their bakery items in their tiny basement kitchen. It never happened, but I swear I would have been content working for them. And, who knows? Maybe as the secret baker, I would have served Michael a delicious slice of my pecan chocolate pie during his date with someone else. Sadly for her, I would've stolen his heart. He never stood a chance!  I digress. Michael, a coffee connoisseur, ordered quickly and expertly. I had never had coffee. I did not know how to pronounce "cappuccino" or "latte". Capushino? Capukino? Cap uh ke ke no? Lahhhtay? Laytay? Lateee? Hot chocolate. Yes indeed, "I'll have a hot chocolate, please," the sure thing.

Let's go back a little. Michael told me his name was Gus. Gus is a nickname bestowed upon him by his friend, Michael (who coincidentally  is coming to see us this evening and has the nickname, Woodrow). I suppose he used a false name for safety.   

Sadly the night had to end. To this day, I can instantaneously recall the awkward smiles, the shyness we both struggled through during the evening, the surprising ease of conversation and, best of all, the fact that I could not look directly at Michael...Gus...whatever. No eye contact. I had an exceptionally tough time engaging with him in this way. I looked all around his head....it was tough looking at a real man with a real life with sensibility and intelligence and handsomeness and just plain general appeal - and I had his attention. Me. Me? Me. Again, we left the next step open ended and I hoped for a call from him because in my heart, head and belly, I knew. He was marvelous and I had room in my life for him.

I didn't hear from Gus again for about two weeks. Two weeks, I said. While I was relieved that he eventually contacted me, those two weeks were filled with checking my answering machine and mindless distractions. When he did contact me, he was apologetic and confided in me that his cousin had been tragically killed in an accident (I believe it was the night we met or the night after). Michael had an immense love for his cousin and, fortunately, he had just visited him in Washington state -the unspoken decision for Michael to eventually live in the NW had been solidified during this visit. He was hurting - it was clear in his voice. And maybe it was this event that allowed him to dive in head first with me. As Michael would tell me years later while gently grabbing my shoulders during what felt like an exceptionally helpless moment, "How long do you think you have in this life? You get one shot."

Eventually, we would meet again. On this next date, we would get in the old Taurus and head to a friend's party in Federal Hill. The conversation on the drive there:

Michael: Oh, by the way, my name isn't Gus.
Ivonne: Hahah! What? Ha.
Michael: It's just a nickname that my friend Woodrow/Michael gave me.
Ivonne's thoughts: Shit. I forgot my pepper spray.

20 years later, my humble advice to you is to answer that personal ad (with pepper spray in hand).

 My date. One of the finest qualities in him is that he is honorable: moral, honest, ethical.

Plus, he's incredibly handsome and funny.

Dad duties with trombone accompaniment

Running/moving meditation - during which some of our best conversations happen. I swear he is not running away from me.

Enhancing lives in his favorite space: http://enhancinglife.uchicago.edu/

__________________________________________
Top 3 memories from year one with M:
1. Serving him chocolate pecan pie in my apartment. He confesses he could not finish it because it was so sweet and rich. I have never been able to successfully corrupt his only slightly sweet tooth - probably why his teeth are still in good shape!
2. Michael walked several miles though a snow storm to visit me one evening. That is the truth.
3. Sitting in Donna's Coffeehouse one night and discovering the "Passengers" Soundtrack . Afterwards, we walked up St Paul St. to the train station for no reason other than to be together and take in the simple and strange elegance of our gritty Charm City.


http://www.donnas.com/
http://theadmiralscup.com/
http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/texas-pecan-and-chocolate-pie-103169
http://enhancinglife.uchicago.edu/people/consumer-wisdom-a-modern-virtue-for-a-qualitatively-better-and-more-sustainable-economy

Check out this blog , especially the TEDtalks E. Perel gives. Completely worth it.
http://www.estherperel.com/blog/