swimming in the unknown currents of this city doesn't make me hard- it makes me human

The paradox of city living. Is I see more. Than I should. Than I sometimes can bear. But I feel more at home within this glass house of society than I ever did in the planned of community of normalness. That never felt normal. I awake early to move the car. That if not will be decorated in a ticket which could buy me a meal, a drink, and something else more desired.

The day moves in waves above my head- the clouds move in a pattern I will never see again but I am struck and stand for a moment. The sun paints a picture on the etch sketch of its canvas. Not in black and white and gray. But perfectly brilliant colors only to last for right now. If I had awoken early to move my car. I would have missed it. No driveway or designated parking place and more parking tickets than I should admit aloud. If I had woken up I would not see the mother with her child taking him to school. He is almost her size and they move in unison. No words. But talking. Still. I wouldn't have seen this father hold the hands of his daughter. And see her jump up on this curb covered in trash. No trash can. Available. Smiling still. Next to the building clean. But still newly graffitied. It will be painted over soon.

If I had not woken up I would not have talked to the teenage boy with glassy eyes of sleep as we walk across the street. He wouldn't have told me he has been growing out his hair since he was a baby. He would not of heard me and see me smile. He would not have heard my wish that he woke up before he got school. I would not have seen his face tired and growing with anticipation of a smile. A real genuine look. Into the eye. If I had not awoken on this day. So early. I might not have seen the community I call home.

Later. I would not have been given a homeless woman's gas bill payment. I sat on a bench. She left me her payment- another envelope addressed to someone else- and kept walking. I didn't know what to do. To pick it up and touch it or leave it behind. Her conversation continues as she walked away. If I didn't pay attention. I might have missed the child inside the dumpster. The recycling variety foundation built in cardboard. His after school activity helping his father. Collect. For his family. I smile at him. For his strength. For my hope. That his hard work pays off. That he still will be freedom to be a child. And as I walk I feel the tears of the sea of me well up.

Living in the city has not made me hard. Or soft. It has made me human. It has made me realize the reality of statistics being people. And people mattering more. It has made me realize. There are no ways to build walls to avoid the realities that are humanity. Beautiful ugly growing into the realness. I sometimes close my eyes to not see. But not for too long. I have to open them again. Or I'll miss the good stuff.

The paradox of this city is how beautiful the rawness of every day that brings me to tears. It touches me. And I let it. I don't read the news. I just walk outside and let the pace of this city. Teach me. Teach me more than I ever learned from reading a book. And the fear. The fear of it being too much sometimes grows. But the beauty of it. Calms me again. The ebb and flow of this urban river. I sometimes stand on the river bed but today I will swim in its unknown currents.

untying the knot to the ship of disappointment

As I sit in this bed. The bed I had made myself. With new choices. And different outcomes. The excitement of beginnings coming now at a bearable repetition as I walk my feet down the warming pavement home. But as I lay on this bed. My own bed. I made myself. I am paralyzed. In fear. Fear I haven't felt in so very long. I had crafted and pottered walls and stairs and tree houses inside myself and all of a sudden I decided to collapse a wall or two. And let someone else climb the stairs with me or climb that tree and stare out of the window I created to remind me of what is around.

Me. See I had forgotten the fear of vulnerability. Because I stopped being vulnerable. Me and vulnerability have had a tumultuous love affair. I used to give it away unearned. I used to play and dance and sing carpe deim at the top of my lungs. Because the acceleration was always worth it. The addiction to the beginning of things as I float above myself but not for long. Until it stopped. Being worth it. And I stopped playing. With others. Instead. I became good at playing solitaire. And standing as a party of one on my mat of yoga. And building my life in ways I could grow with new walls and foundations and the final piece of my tree house with its swing. I didn’t need anyone to come play with me. Or I did. But I was waiting for someone who would stay a little bit longer. Someone I might walk with before running in a race to no where.

And as I lay in this bed. I had forgotten how scared I am. I am of the real thing. Because being alone. Became easier. No one got hurt in my own world created by myself. But now. As I lay and watch the ocean descend out to beyond I can ever see. I know the fear. Is tied to the ship of all what has happened before. I am still tied to the past of all the disappointments-all the falling on my face-all the wishing things can be different- all the I slept with someone else or im getting back with my x-girlfriend or I don't love you anymore or it will be cool to break up you with double parked or on myspace or entirely flake out. The rope is tied around me pulling me to sea to that boat. I am its anchor. The past failures and the past of me trying hard sometimes with the wrong people-sometimes- with the right magnets me out of this bed into the sand of the shore. I am tied to this past. In ways I had forgotten.

And all the therapy in the world and the success I have been lucky to have can ever erase that boats existence. Its not just the failed love. Its the failed relationship of a mother. Her leaving and never coming back. Her not ever getting the help she needed so that I could know her. Again. That is the heaviest. In the ship they all reside. The rope pulling me closer to the water. I drag my feet begging for the past not to matter. Pleading that I can create my own destiny. That I do not need to be tied with what was. I am not that person anymore.

I stop. And the knot around my waist was done by me and it could be undone. And as I begin to unknot it. Slowly. There is a pause. Can I let this rope go and still be me? I am still me. And as I stand on these rocks multiplied into a beach and stare at the water that goes beyond where I can see and where I can dream. I drop the rope. And watch the boat- it doesn't move quickly or abruptly. Its still there. But I don't have to be tied to the past as I once was.

I had forgotten about that ship. I had forgotten until I remembered that I had tied myself to it. Because of the fear of it. Of getting hurt so great. Of it working out so great. That I had to remember. Remember that I can watch it from the horizon but I am no longer controlled by it. The ship bobs up and down. I stand there for a moment. Until I feel my feet firmly in the moistness foundation of strong sand below- the waves coming in to welcome me home again. And I begin to move. Again.