Monika Basile's Blog: Confessions of a Bleeding Heart, page 5
December 14, 2012
The Drawback
This time of year is a strange one for me. I call it the Holiday Drawback. This is when relationships that ended, men I have loved... tend to seep their way back into my life or at least attempt to. I used to think it was because maybe, somehow, it could all be relived—but that isn’t the reason at all.
I think that sometimes people look for the people they let go of who were good to them, as one looks for a set of carelessly misplaced keys. The key word here is carelessly, not misplaced. It has taken me a while to realize that but I do understand it now.
No one wants to be alone on the holidays or even living with someone who makes them feel alone. So instead they think back to a time when someone was good to them or saw the wonder in them or simply enjoyed the person they were. And they are drawn back, back to that time when maybe they felt really good for a bit. Then the thoughts get swirling wicked crazy. What happened? Hey, why did that end? Hmmm, I wonder if she still thinks of me. Etc.
I have an answer. You carelessly misplaced me. You, Sirs, were not careful with what should have been valuable to you—and you didn’t realize that I knew who I was and what my value was and is. I also, dear Sirs, knew that you were worth something too. That is what you miss...the lot of you. You miss one of the people in the world who knew you were someone special, something great, someone worth loving.
It isn’t easy for me in the least to not get drawn back into it all. It’s actually quite difficult to say, “No thank you. I can’t. I hope you’re well etc.” When my heart of hearts instead wants to scream out, “Why did you do that to me? Why are you too late?” It is harder to keep going on alone, not knowing what will happen next, but with a knowing that something will definitely happen next even if I don’t have a clue of what it will be. I know that my life will keep going forward unless I allow the Holiday Drawback to suck me in—however tempting that may be. It isn’t worth it. It keeps me standing still or worse yet, falling backward.
They say men look for the challenge. They want a challenge as they find the woman of their dreams. I say the challenge is not in capturing a woman’s heart, it is in keeping it. Why hunt the mighty bear to simply toss it in the woods for the scavengers? There is no point in that. The challenge is to not be careless and misplace what you hold most dear—what is truly valuable. Hearts are fragile and should be handled with the utmost care.
Yes, sometimes things change—people do or situations. There are mistakes made and regrets hashed over. A second chance can be possible with growing. I have grown too. I have grown wiser and a bit more cautious but not bitter as you may assume. I am not against forgiveness. In fact, I am a firm believer in it. I also believe that loneliness can drive us backwards and cloud our vision of the future as well as the here and now. “The Season” shouldn’t be the reason. It is bittersweet to come to the realization but I am grateful for it.
Monika M. Basile
I think that sometimes people look for the people they let go of who were good to them, as one looks for a set of carelessly misplaced keys. The key word here is carelessly, not misplaced. It has taken me a while to realize that but I do understand it now.
No one wants to be alone on the holidays or even living with someone who makes them feel alone. So instead they think back to a time when someone was good to them or saw the wonder in them or simply enjoyed the person they were. And they are drawn back, back to that time when maybe they felt really good for a bit. Then the thoughts get swirling wicked crazy. What happened? Hey, why did that end? Hmmm, I wonder if she still thinks of me. Etc.
I have an answer. You carelessly misplaced me. You, Sirs, were not careful with what should have been valuable to you—and you didn’t realize that I knew who I was and what my value was and is. I also, dear Sirs, knew that you were worth something too. That is what you miss...the lot of you. You miss one of the people in the world who knew you were someone special, something great, someone worth loving.
It isn’t easy for me in the least to not get drawn back into it all. It’s actually quite difficult to say, “No thank you. I can’t. I hope you’re well etc.” When my heart of hearts instead wants to scream out, “Why did you do that to me? Why are you too late?” It is harder to keep going on alone, not knowing what will happen next, but with a knowing that something will definitely happen next even if I don’t have a clue of what it will be. I know that my life will keep going forward unless I allow the Holiday Drawback to suck me in—however tempting that may be. It isn’t worth it. It keeps me standing still or worse yet, falling backward.
They say men look for the challenge. They want a challenge as they find the woman of their dreams. I say the challenge is not in capturing a woman’s heart, it is in keeping it. Why hunt the mighty bear to simply toss it in the woods for the scavengers? There is no point in that. The challenge is to not be careless and misplace what you hold most dear—what is truly valuable. Hearts are fragile and should be handled with the utmost care.
Yes, sometimes things change—people do or situations. There are mistakes made and regrets hashed over. A second chance can be possible with growing. I have grown too. I have grown wiser and a bit more cautious but not bitter as you may assume. I am not against forgiveness. In fact, I am a firm believer in it. I also believe that loneliness can drive us backwards and cloud our vision of the future as well as the here and now. “The Season” shouldn’t be the reason. It is bittersweet to come to the realization but I am grateful for it.
Monika M. Basile
December 7, 2012
We Are the Needy
I think I have heard enough of it.
This world says so knowingly, “You should not need, not attach. You should be fine, wonderful, content with just yourself...”
I say instead, “Enough. I’ve heard enough.” I will not be able to live in this particular version of the world any longer because I find that all that world does—is make me feel as if something is inherently wrong deep inside me. I shall instead live in this world I am surrounding myself in...one where I am connected.
The way to avoid living is to detach yourself from it—to talk yourself out of actual need and substitute the word want. The way to never get hurt by loving, is to never allow yourself to love—to not open yourself up to actually needing other people to round out your life.
So many miss the entire point of humanity, of life itself by forgetting that nothing exists alone. We are not intended too. Not one thing is supposed to be without another. Even the stars have fellow stars, a moon, a planet and an astronomer somewhere watching, a child wishing—a dreamer dreaming of what is beyond.
We can’t exist in this world without each other. I really do not think we are supposed to. Yet, on we go listening to this society telling us it’s all about how happy we are with ourselves, love ourselves and if no one else comes along we are just fine. We aren’t. We are merely pretending. We are simply avoiding the deep dark truth hiding it’s ugly face inside us.
Tell an orphan if they just become happy with their own accomplishments that they will not need a mother or a father. It isn’t so. We always need this. It doesn’t mean we will drop off the face of the Earth if we don’t have it. It means that every person in the world needs a mother and father and if they are not there, something will forever be missing. Something will always be longed for. Yet, we may think we are better off not to attach ourselves to that thought because it is painful if we allow ourselves to think of what we miss so deeply.
We cannot fill empty spaces with empty things or activities. It remains empty. And we, as humans, remain a needy bunch regardless if we allow it or not. It is still there lurking around us no matter what we do to push it away or climb over it and get past it or even ignore it. We can ignore the holes, the big ones and the little ones and even skirt around them, but as we step lightly we are still aware we can slip through in a minute. It has only become habit to ignore the missing parts as we tell ourselves everything is fine and we are fulfilled.
What we fail to remember in our quest for love is that not only do we need others, they need us too. Not only do we crave to be loved, we crave to actually love. We need to be touched and to touch, to give and to take. We need all aspects of it. We NEED it—not only want it. We can physically exist without love, however, we only exist. We go through the motions rather than the emotions and eventually we become numb to each other as we attempt to excuse ourselves politely from our hearts and the hearts of others. Even the hermits of the world need people. They choose to ignore the need. It doesn’t mean it is not still there bubbling wildly beneath the surface of their isolation.
I think we are living in such a fear of looking needy, of feeling needy we are all ignoring what is truly a simple human need—the need of each other—and we are instead labeling it as a deficit of character. So many have become suspicious of motives because we have our own secret or subconscious motives. Love is not a purely unselfish act. It really isn’t. We get something out of it in the midst of giving our all. We. Become. Alive.
Monika M. Basile
This world says so knowingly, “You should not need, not attach. You should be fine, wonderful, content with just yourself...”
I say instead, “Enough. I’ve heard enough.” I will not be able to live in this particular version of the world any longer because I find that all that world does—is make me feel as if something is inherently wrong deep inside me. I shall instead live in this world I am surrounding myself in...one where I am connected.
The way to avoid living is to detach yourself from it—to talk yourself out of actual need and substitute the word want. The way to never get hurt by loving, is to never allow yourself to love—to not open yourself up to actually needing other people to round out your life.
So many miss the entire point of humanity, of life itself by forgetting that nothing exists alone. We are not intended too. Not one thing is supposed to be without another. Even the stars have fellow stars, a moon, a planet and an astronomer somewhere watching, a child wishing—a dreamer dreaming of what is beyond.
We can’t exist in this world without each other. I really do not think we are supposed to. Yet, on we go listening to this society telling us it’s all about how happy we are with ourselves, love ourselves and if no one else comes along we are just fine. We aren’t. We are merely pretending. We are simply avoiding the deep dark truth hiding it’s ugly face inside us.
Tell an orphan if they just become happy with their own accomplishments that they will not need a mother or a father. It isn’t so. We always need this. It doesn’t mean we will drop off the face of the Earth if we don’t have it. It means that every person in the world needs a mother and father and if they are not there, something will forever be missing. Something will always be longed for. Yet, we may think we are better off not to attach ourselves to that thought because it is painful if we allow ourselves to think of what we miss so deeply.
We cannot fill empty spaces with empty things or activities. It remains empty. And we, as humans, remain a needy bunch regardless if we allow it or not. It is still there lurking around us no matter what we do to push it away or climb over it and get past it or even ignore it. We can ignore the holes, the big ones and the little ones and even skirt around them, but as we step lightly we are still aware we can slip through in a minute. It has only become habit to ignore the missing parts as we tell ourselves everything is fine and we are fulfilled.
What we fail to remember in our quest for love is that not only do we need others, they need us too. Not only do we crave to be loved, we crave to actually love. We need to be touched and to touch, to give and to take. We need all aspects of it. We NEED it—not only want it. We can physically exist without love, however, we only exist. We go through the motions rather than the emotions and eventually we become numb to each other as we attempt to excuse ourselves politely from our hearts and the hearts of others. Even the hermits of the world need people. They choose to ignore the need. It doesn’t mean it is not still there bubbling wildly beneath the surface of their isolation.
I think we are living in such a fear of looking needy, of feeling needy we are all ignoring what is truly a simple human need—the need of each other—and we are instead labeling it as a deficit of character. So many have become suspicious of motives because we have our own secret or subconscious motives. Love is not a purely unselfish act. It really isn’t. We get something out of it in the midst of giving our all. We. Become. Alive.
Monika M. Basile
September 29, 2012
I Ain't Desperate
A few weeks ago I went to dinner with a friend. We are both single and both desiring more but not with each other. I suggested internet dating. He said the ultimate worst thing, “I’m not that desperate.”
I cringed—on the inside and the outside.
At the moment I am not online. I have been giving myself a bit of time to heal and get brave again. However, I may be back there soon enough. And I ain’t desperate.
I said that out loud, “Hey, I internet date. I’m not desperate. I’m just actively seeking what I very much want.”
He rolls his eyes and goes on to tell me how his ex wife also internet dated all over the place, constantly meeting men etc. I had to point out to him how his ex wife actually met the man of her dreams doing this and married him last year.
“Well, I’m just not that desperate yet. And there are a bunch of strange people on there anyway.”
Trying to explain to someone that it is not a desperate act to date in a different way is baffling. Trying to tell him it is a way to meet people who are also trying to meet people. It is still all left to chance but at least you know this person on the other end of the computer is also looking for someone or something. Yes, there is the chance of meeting loonys or serial killers or horrible people. There is also the chance of meeting someone like me. Not to say I am perfectly normal, I am merely utterly human.
“I’ll just let it happen naturally and meet someone in a bar, like you did a few weeks ago.”
That was a fluke. Really. That is not the norm for me in the least. I happened to force myself out to a party for my brother in law knowing I would be the seventeenth wheel among a mass of couples. I met the only other person at the bar we had hopped to who had only had one drink. That is a fluke in itself. We sat on the edge of the partygoers and talked for an hour, exchanged numbers and have been on a few dates. It may or may not work out. It doesn’t mean I will start cruising the bars trying to pick up men if it doesn’t. Most likely, I will just go back online. Not in desperation—but with hope.
I am not saying it is the best way to meet people, only that it is a way to meet people—all kinds of people. People who might be desperate and mostly those who are not and who are just hopeful too.
Last night, I attempted to be his wingwoman while we went out for a drink. Watching him panic as he tried to get the courage up to speak to a woman he found attractive was quite enlightening. ( I really saw the other side of the coin, dear men, and I do not envy that position in the least.) He let the moment pass as he never quite found the right moment to speak to her. It made me think about how many moments we let pass waiting for the right one to appear.
While he walked me to my apartment I said, “You know what? If you were dating online you wouldn’t have to wait for the right time. You would see a woman you thought was pretty, read her profile, send an email and then wait for a response or no response. You wouldn’t have to wonder if she was single, or looking or anything. Everyone there is there to meet someone. It might be easier.”
He just shook his head.
It isn’t desperate to actively seek your life in whatever way works for you. It is stepping out into the world and still living and hoping you find what you seek. You can’t find the needle in the haystack if you don’t bail any hay.
Monika M. Basile
I cringed—on the inside and the outside.
At the moment I am not online. I have been giving myself a bit of time to heal and get brave again. However, I may be back there soon enough. And I ain’t desperate.
I said that out loud, “Hey, I internet date. I’m not desperate. I’m just actively seeking what I very much want.”
He rolls his eyes and goes on to tell me how his ex wife also internet dated all over the place, constantly meeting men etc. I had to point out to him how his ex wife actually met the man of her dreams doing this and married him last year.
“Well, I’m just not that desperate yet. And there are a bunch of strange people on there anyway.”
Trying to explain to someone that it is not a desperate act to date in a different way is baffling. Trying to tell him it is a way to meet people who are also trying to meet people. It is still all left to chance but at least you know this person on the other end of the computer is also looking for someone or something. Yes, there is the chance of meeting loonys or serial killers or horrible people. There is also the chance of meeting someone like me. Not to say I am perfectly normal, I am merely utterly human.
“I’ll just let it happen naturally and meet someone in a bar, like you did a few weeks ago.”
That was a fluke. Really. That is not the norm for me in the least. I happened to force myself out to a party for my brother in law knowing I would be the seventeenth wheel among a mass of couples. I met the only other person at the bar we had hopped to who had only had one drink. That is a fluke in itself. We sat on the edge of the partygoers and talked for an hour, exchanged numbers and have been on a few dates. It may or may not work out. It doesn’t mean I will start cruising the bars trying to pick up men if it doesn’t. Most likely, I will just go back online. Not in desperation—but with hope.
I am not saying it is the best way to meet people, only that it is a way to meet people—all kinds of people. People who might be desperate and mostly those who are not and who are just hopeful too.
Last night, I attempted to be his wingwoman while we went out for a drink. Watching him panic as he tried to get the courage up to speak to a woman he found attractive was quite enlightening. ( I really saw the other side of the coin, dear men, and I do not envy that position in the least.) He let the moment pass as he never quite found the right moment to speak to her. It made me think about how many moments we let pass waiting for the right one to appear.
While he walked me to my apartment I said, “You know what? If you were dating online you wouldn’t have to wait for the right time. You would see a woman you thought was pretty, read her profile, send an email and then wait for a response or no response. You wouldn’t have to wonder if she was single, or looking or anything. Everyone there is there to meet someone. It might be easier.”
He just shook his head.
It isn’t desperate to actively seek your life in whatever way works for you. It is stepping out into the world and still living and hoping you find what you seek. You can’t find the needle in the haystack if you don’t bail any hay.
Monika M. Basile
July 17, 2012
Scraps
I have noticed a pattern in my life. A pattern that is ugly and gaudy. A pattern—that I want to change. I want to change it right now.
I have been a settler. I have been a woman whom has settled for scraps and thought I was having the best parts and not the cast offs—the parts most would scrape into the garbage—this has been what I have kindly taken as my due. No more. No more will I settle for the least of things while living in fear that this is all there is to be offered to me.
The common denominator in it all is me. It is my behavior whether I realized it or not. It is me and I allowed it. I wonder how I end up in the very same spot no matter which road I start on. I am the one who winds up with a huge plate of nothing and it takes me too long to realize that it is just that—nothing. It has taken me even longer to understand that I want, need and deserve much more and that I have the right to expect to get as much as I give.
When I look back on the relationships I have been in and the men I have loved I see things now that I didn’t see before. I see how easily I accepted the tid-bits thinking that I was accepting the man. I see how understanding I tried to be of obligations in busy lives and failed to expect that I should be a top priority. My eyes have opened painfully to the simple turns of phrase I have used, “When you have time” or “If it isn’t an inconvenience...” and “I don’t want to be a bother so I will wait til you are ready”
In my mind, I was being patient. I was being non-pushy. I was being non-aggressive and undemanding. I made myself this woman waiting in shadows instead of standing right in the center of it and saying, “I need you now and I expect you to be there when I need you just as I am for you.”
I wonder how I became her—this woman who has no trouble offering the best of me, the most of me and the every part of me at the drop of hat. Yet, I never felt anyone else should do the same. I never demanded they did. I simply settled for the scraps of time thrown my way as complacently as a dog waiting under the table for food to drop from careless mouths. I look behind me now and find it all pathetic and sad.
How dare I do that to myself? How dare any one not value the gifts I brought to the table and only considered me an afterthought. How dare I settle for less when I gave so much more?
I did it to myself. I have no one to blame but me. It has been said you cannot change anyone else—you can only change yourself. I am. Today. This moment. Right now.
I am taking the scraps offered and throwing them in the garbage where they belong and always belonged. I will save my appetite for an entire meal...including dessert.
Monika M. Basile
I have been a settler. I have been a woman whom has settled for scraps and thought I was having the best parts and not the cast offs—the parts most would scrape into the garbage—this has been what I have kindly taken as my due. No more. No more will I settle for the least of things while living in fear that this is all there is to be offered to me.
The common denominator in it all is me. It is my behavior whether I realized it or not. It is me and I allowed it. I wonder how I end up in the very same spot no matter which road I start on. I am the one who winds up with a huge plate of nothing and it takes me too long to realize that it is just that—nothing. It has taken me even longer to understand that I want, need and deserve much more and that I have the right to expect to get as much as I give.
When I look back on the relationships I have been in and the men I have loved I see things now that I didn’t see before. I see how easily I accepted the tid-bits thinking that I was accepting the man. I see how understanding I tried to be of obligations in busy lives and failed to expect that I should be a top priority. My eyes have opened painfully to the simple turns of phrase I have used, “When you have time” or “If it isn’t an inconvenience...” and “I don’t want to be a bother so I will wait til you are ready”
In my mind, I was being patient. I was being non-pushy. I was being non-aggressive and undemanding. I made myself this woman waiting in shadows instead of standing right in the center of it and saying, “I need you now and I expect you to be there when I need you just as I am for you.”
I wonder how I became her—this woman who has no trouble offering the best of me, the most of me and the every part of me at the drop of hat. Yet, I never felt anyone else should do the same. I never demanded they did. I simply settled for the scraps of time thrown my way as complacently as a dog waiting under the table for food to drop from careless mouths. I look behind me now and find it all pathetic and sad.
How dare I do that to myself? How dare any one not value the gifts I brought to the table and only considered me an afterthought. How dare I settle for less when I gave so much more?
I did it to myself. I have no one to blame but me. It has been said you cannot change anyone else—you can only change yourself. I am. Today. This moment. Right now.
I am taking the scraps offered and throwing them in the garbage where they belong and always belonged. I will save my appetite for an entire meal...including dessert.
Monika M. Basile
June 10, 2012
More Than Paper
A lovely man recently asked me this question;
“Do you want to get married again?”
I was surprised. During all these years of dating—not one man has asked that. Not one single one. I think many people are turning against this tradition. It actually has been a question that I had been mulling over a few months before and came to a decision on. Yes. I do want to get married again. I don’t have to—I want to.
These past years I assumed someday I would live with someone again and just share my life. I didn’t really think too much about actually doing the marriage thing. I just figured living together would be okay, would be good enough, would be enough and it didn’t really matter. It’s just a piece of paper, right? It’s not all that important really, is it? And to my utter chagrin, I realize I was wrong in that line of thought.
A few months ago, while watching a wedding show, watching family and friends gathered, hearing heartfelt and genuine vows, and seeing the pure joy radiating forth, I realized that getting married means so much. It is a symbol but more than a symbol. It is a proclamation to the world. It is a declaration of love, hope and faith. It is more than a piece of paper. It is a grander story to tell than the one of living together tells. It is so much bigger than so many of us who have been through awful relationships realize.
There is nothing wrong with living together. There really isn’t. It’s just not going all the way. It isn’t completely committing even if it is committing. It isn’t near as powerful as the union of marriage. The story it tells is, “I love you. I’m willing to see what happens. I just don’t know how it all will turn out.”
And even marrying someone we never know how it will turn out. It’s simply a deeper faith in another. It is a bigger hope. It is a risk, but one that obviously means someone is serious about taking it. It is standing before your family and friends and the person you choose and it is telling this story instead, “I love you. I can’t imagine my life without you and I am bound to you in my heart, before or families, before our government, and before our God. And even though I don’t know what will happen or how it will all turn out, I know this—I want to find out with you. You are who I choose to share my life with. You are who I love most in the world.”
I want to tell that story someday again in my life. I want to share that story with someone again in my life. I don’t have to—I want to.
It is an act of bravery when two people get married. It is an act of bravery to put your trust in another’s hands and live your life with the thought that this person shall hold your heart tightly without destroying it. It is definitely a risk worth taking. We can’t live our lives by statistics and the fear of failing. We would be too chicken to do anything if we did. We are better off living it with love...definitely better off with love.
Monika M. Basile
“Do you want to get married again?”
I was surprised. During all these years of dating—not one man has asked that. Not one single one. I think many people are turning against this tradition. It actually has been a question that I had been mulling over a few months before and came to a decision on. Yes. I do want to get married again. I don’t have to—I want to.
These past years I assumed someday I would live with someone again and just share my life. I didn’t really think too much about actually doing the marriage thing. I just figured living together would be okay, would be good enough, would be enough and it didn’t really matter. It’s just a piece of paper, right? It’s not all that important really, is it? And to my utter chagrin, I realize I was wrong in that line of thought.
A few months ago, while watching a wedding show, watching family and friends gathered, hearing heartfelt and genuine vows, and seeing the pure joy radiating forth, I realized that getting married means so much. It is a symbol but more than a symbol. It is a proclamation to the world. It is a declaration of love, hope and faith. It is more than a piece of paper. It is a grander story to tell than the one of living together tells. It is so much bigger than so many of us who have been through awful relationships realize.
There is nothing wrong with living together. There really isn’t. It’s just not going all the way. It isn’t completely committing even if it is committing. It isn’t near as powerful as the union of marriage. The story it tells is, “I love you. I’m willing to see what happens. I just don’t know how it all will turn out.”
And even marrying someone we never know how it will turn out. It’s simply a deeper faith in another. It is a bigger hope. It is a risk, but one that obviously means someone is serious about taking it. It is standing before your family and friends and the person you choose and it is telling this story instead, “I love you. I can’t imagine my life without you and I am bound to you in my heart, before or families, before our government, and before our God. And even though I don’t know what will happen or how it will all turn out, I know this—I want to find out with you. You are who I choose to share my life with. You are who I love most in the world.”
I want to tell that story someday again in my life. I want to share that story with someone again in my life. I don’t have to—I want to.
It is an act of bravery when two people get married. It is an act of bravery to put your trust in another’s hands and live your life with the thought that this person shall hold your heart tightly without destroying it. It is definitely a risk worth taking. We can’t live our lives by statistics and the fear of failing. We would be too chicken to do anything if we did. We are better off living it with love...definitely better off with love.
Monika M. Basile
May 27, 2012
Tune In...
We are odd people in this home. Not just because I say it, because most who visit agree and either one of two things happen; either they join in with our bizarre shenanigans and eventually find them to be our version of “normal, or they never come back.
I shall pick one instance to give a glimpse of the real live life we lead. Our television viewing habits are a good example. Until recently, we watched a T.V. that the top six inches were wavy lines. They also made the picture upside down from those six inches up. We watched anyway even though it was sometimes in color, sometimes not, sometimes loud and sometimes silent. And when others came, “How can you possibly watch this T.V.?” is exclaimed with surprise. Well we did...until I finally broke down this spring and bought a new one.
And still the television issue is prevalent in our household. Most days we don’t turn the volume up and we watch a silent spattering of images and wonder out loud what in the world is going on. It is to the point that most of the time, as we talk over the T.V. we hardly realize we don’t even have the volume on at all until someone says, “Why are you watching this without the sound?” I know this is annoying to most folks, but we are used to it and it doesn’t faze us.
Recently, one of the kids friends came, (he is a brave one and has repeatedly come back)We all were in a lengthy discussion and something interesting flashed across the screen. “Oh wow! I wonder what’s going on?” and we all began chatting over whatever appeared to be happening across the screen. After some time, I finally said, “You know, we could turn up the volume and see what is actually happening.” And it’s funny, I don’t remember what was so all important, only our excited chatter about what MIGHT be happening.
I know even thinking about that would send some in a tizzy or fit, yet for us, and the lasting people in our lives, it is as it usually is, it is the our strange normal life.
Some days we watch the blue screen. It is the background of our lives. Why do we not turn it off? Or when the DVD is done playing it will song the opening “play” scene for hours on end before someone bothers to change it or turn it off or watch the movie over. We watch the Hispanic channels, though none of us speaks Spanish, and make up stories about what is going on.
I am thinking maybe we are a little more interested in each other than what is out there in T.V. land. I am not against television in the least bit. I actually thought it was invented just for me when I was a kid. I didn’t realize folks saw the same thing as me inside of that box. I thought the performers lived only to entertain me and waited inside for me to be allowed to turn the television on. I am simply assuming that our wonder and curiosity are near as big as our imaginations. And maybe, maybe we are just weird.
Monika M. Basile
I shall pick one instance to give a glimpse of the real live life we lead. Our television viewing habits are a good example. Until recently, we watched a T.V. that the top six inches were wavy lines. They also made the picture upside down from those six inches up. We watched anyway even though it was sometimes in color, sometimes not, sometimes loud and sometimes silent. And when others came, “How can you possibly watch this T.V.?” is exclaimed with surprise. Well we did...until I finally broke down this spring and bought a new one.
And still the television issue is prevalent in our household. Most days we don’t turn the volume up and we watch a silent spattering of images and wonder out loud what in the world is going on. It is to the point that most of the time, as we talk over the T.V. we hardly realize we don’t even have the volume on at all until someone says, “Why are you watching this without the sound?” I know this is annoying to most folks, but we are used to it and it doesn’t faze us.
Recently, one of the kids friends came, (he is a brave one and has repeatedly come back)We all were in a lengthy discussion and something interesting flashed across the screen. “Oh wow! I wonder what’s going on?” and we all began chatting over whatever appeared to be happening across the screen. After some time, I finally said, “You know, we could turn up the volume and see what is actually happening.” And it’s funny, I don’t remember what was so all important, only our excited chatter about what MIGHT be happening.
I know even thinking about that would send some in a tizzy or fit, yet for us, and the lasting people in our lives, it is as it usually is, it is the our strange normal life.
Some days we watch the blue screen. It is the background of our lives. Why do we not turn it off? Or when the DVD is done playing it will song the opening “play” scene for hours on end before someone bothers to change it or turn it off or watch the movie over. We watch the Hispanic channels, though none of us speaks Spanish, and make up stories about what is going on.
I am thinking maybe we are a little more interested in each other than what is out there in T.V. land. I am not against television in the least bit. I actually thought it was invented just for me when I was a kid. I didn’t realize folks saw the same thing as me inside of that box. I thought the performers lived only to entertain me and waited inside for me to be allowed to turn the television on. I am simply assuming that our wonder and curiosity are near as big as our imaginations. And maybe, maybe we are just weird.
Monika M. Basile
May 21, 2012
I'll Be Fine
Yesterday my mother said to me, “I’m just afraid you will get hurt.” I understand that. My mother has watched me hurt quite often and no mother likes to see it happen.
I tried to assure her that I was willing to take the risk and that I would be okay. “You have to play to win, Mom.” I answered back, and then could not quite explain myself.
I will try here instead, my sweet mother, to explain it better.
I am not afraid to hurt, however much I do not want to hurt. I am afraid to grow numb and not feel. I am afraid more to never experience all the things I want to experience. I know it pains her to watch me stumble. It would pain me more if I sat down right where I was and stopped moving forward.
Each heartache has led me on to the next part of my life. Each joy also led me to the next too. I only hope she understands that it is her who taught me to be strong no matter what happens.
I know there must be times she wishes she could just step in and stop me in my tracks when she sees me teetering on the edge. I want her to know that though I am an eternal klutz I do manage balancing on the edges quite well. And when I fall, somewhere on the way down, I grab hold of her and my father, my sister and my brother, my family and friends and never quite reach that bottom. I am thankful to have them to break some of my fall.
My mother is fearful when I am out in this world that I will make poor decisions due to me making several of them over the course of my life. It’s okay though, I fear the same thing for my children too. However, I want her to know I am more afraid of not choosing, of not deciding, of being paralyzed with fear that I can’t decide. Instead I choose to choose. Even if it’s blindly, I choose to do something rather than nothing.
My mother wishes to know I’m settled in life, that I have someone to love me and someone to love, someone to lean on as well as someone who can lean on me, someone to bring me happiness as well as someone I can bring happiness too. I want those same things. That is why I am choosing to be brave. I know there are heartaches around every corner, the possibilities of heartaches. But there is also the possibility, the probability of, and the hope of all we wish for.
I have to be willing to take chances and to expose the real me to be able to really live my life. I fear rejection at every turn. I can spin my head in circles in those dark still moments when I look at everything with a cynical eye rather than a hopeful one. I can talk myself into never leaving the house again if I stop to think of every horror that could possibly befall me. I am not going to do that though. I’m just going to take a deep breath and do what I have always done which is keep at it.
I am as terrified as you, my sweet mother, but I am sure too, with you behind me, I will do just fine. Don’t forget I had a most stubborn woman raise me.
Monika M. Basile
I tried to assure her that I was willing to take the risk and that I would be okay. “You have to play to win, Mom.” I answered back, and then could not quite explain myself.
I will try here instead, my sweet mother, to explain it better.
I am not afraid to hurt, however much I do not want to hurt. I am afraid to grow numb and not feel. I am afraid more to never experience all the things I want to experience. I know it pains her to watch me stumble. It would pain me more if I sat down right where I was and stopped moving forward.
Each heartache has led me on to the next part of my life. Each joy also led me to the next too. I only hope she understands that it is her who taught me to be strong no matter what happens.
I know there must be times she wishes she could just step in and stop me in my tracks when she sees me teetering on the edge. I want her to know that though I am an eternal klutz I do manage balancing on the edges quite well. And when I fall, somewhere on the way down, I grab hold of her and my father, my sister and my brother, my family and friends and never quite reach that bottom. I am thankful to have them to break some of my fall.
My mother is fearful when I am out in this world that I will make poor decisions due to me making several of them over the course of my life. It’s okay though, I fear the same thing for my children too. However, I want her to know I am more afraid of not choosing, of not deciding, of being paralyzed with fear that I can’t decide. Instead I choose to choose. Even if it’s blindly, I choose to do something rather than nothing.
My mother wishes to know I’m settled in life, that I have someone to love me and someone to love, someone to lean on as well as someone who can lean on me, someone to bring me happiness as well as someone I can bring happiness too. I want those same things. That is why I am choosing to be brave. I know there are heartaches around every corner, the possibilities of heartaches. But there is also the possibility, the probability of, and the hope of all we wish for.
I have to be willing to take chances and to expose the real me to be able to really live my life. I fear rejection at every turn. I can spin my head in circles in those dark still moments when I look at everything with a cynical eye rather than a hopeful one. I can talk myself into never leaving the house again if I stop to think of every horror that could possibly befall me. I am not going to do that though. I’m just going to take a deep breath and do what I have always done which is keep at it.
I am as terrified as you, my sweet mother, but I am sure too, with you behind me, I will do just fine. Don’t forget I had a most stubborn woman raise me.
Monika M. Basile
I'll Be Fine
Yesterday my mother said to me, “I’m just afraid you will get hurt.” I understand that. My mother has watched me hurt quite often and no mother likes to see it happen.
I tried to assure her that I was willing to take the risk and that I would be okay. “You have to play to win, Mom.” I answered back, and then could not quite explain myself.
I will try here instead, my sweet mother, to explain it better.
I am not afraid to hurt, however much I do not want to hurt. I am afraid to grow numb and not feel. I am afraid more to never experience all the things I want to experience. I know it pains her to watch me stumble. It would pain me more if I sat down right where I was and stopped moving forward.
Each heartache has led me on to the next part of my life. Each joy also led me to the next too. I only hope she understands that it is her who taught me to be strong no matter what happens.
I know there must be times she wishes she could just step in and stop me in my tracks when she sees me teetering on the edge. I want her to know that though I am an eternal klutz I do manage balancing on the edges quite well. And when I fall, somewhere on the way down, I grab hold of her and my father, my sister and my brother, my family and friends and never quite reach that bottom. I am thankful to have them to break some of my fall.
My mother is fearful when I am out in this world that I will make poor decisions due to me making several of them over the course of my life. It’s okay though, I fear the same thing for my children too. However, I want her to know I am more afraid of not choosing, of not deciding, of being paralyzed with fear that I can’t decide. Instead I choose to choose. Even if it’s blindly, I choose to do something rather than nothing.
My mother wishes to know I’m settled in life, that I have someone to love me and someone to love, someone to lean on as well as someone who can lean on me, someone to bring me happiness as well as someone I can bring happiness too. I want those same things. That is why I am choosing to be brave. I know there are heartaches around every corner, the possibilities of heartaches. But there is also the possibility, the probability of, and the hope of all we wish for.
I have to be willing to take chances and to expose the real me to be able to really live my life. I fear rejection at every turn. I can spin my head in circles in those dark still moments when I look at everything with a cynical eye rather than a hopeful one. I can talk myself into never leaving the house again if I stop to think of every horror that could possibly befall me. I am not going to do that though. I’m just going to take a deep breath and do what I have always done which is keep at it.
I am as terrified as you, my sweet mother, but I am sure too, with you behind me, I will do just fine. Don’t forget I had a most stubborn woman raise me.
Monika M. Basile
I tried to assure her that I was willing to take the risk and that I would be okay. “You have to play to win, Mom.” I answered back, and then could not quite explain myself.
I will try here instead, my sweet mother, to explain it better.
I am not afraid to hurt, however much I do not want to hurt. I am afraid to grow numb and not feel. I am afraid more to never experience all the things I want to experience. I know it pains her to watch me stumble. It would pain me more if I sat down right where I was and stopped moving forward.
Each heartache has led me on to the next part of my life. Each joy also led me to the next too. I only hope she understands that it is her who taught me to be strong no matter what happens.
I know there must be times she wishes she could just step in and stop me in my tracks when she sees me teetering on the edge. I want her to know that though I am an eternal klutz I do manage balancing on the edges quite well. And when I fall, somewhere on the way down, I grab hold of her and my father, my sister and my brother, my family and friends and never quite reach that bottom. I am thankful to have them to break some of my fall.
My mother is fearful when I am out in this world that I will make poor decisions due to me making several of them over the course of my life. It’s okay though, I fear the same thing for my children too. However, I want her to know I am more afraid of not choosing, of not deciding, of being paralyzed with fear that I can’t decide. Instead I choose to choose. Even if it’s blindly, I choose to do something rather than nothing.
My mother wishes to know I’m settled in life, that I have someone to love me and someone to love, someone to lean on as well as someone who can lean on me, someone to bring me happiness as well as someone I can bring happiness too. I want those same things. That is why I am choosing to be brave. I know there are heartaches around every corner, the possibilities of heartaches. But there is also the possibility, the probability of, and the hope of all we wish for.
I have to be willing to take chances and to expose the real me to be able to really live my life. I fear rejection at every turn. I can spin my head in circles in those dark still moments when I look at everything with a cynical eye rather than a hopeful one. I can talk myself into never leaving the house again if I stop to think of every horror that could possibly befall me. I am not going to do that though. I’m just going to take a deep breath and do what I have always done which is keep at it.
I am as terrified as you, my sweet mother, but I am sure too, with you behind me, I will do just fine. Don’t forget I had a most stubborn woman raise me.
Monika M. Basile
I'll Be Fine
Yesterday my mother said to me, “I’m just afraid you will get hurt.” I understand that. My mother has watched me hurt quite often and no mother likes to see it happen.
I tried to assure her that I was willing to take the risk and that I would be okay. “You have to play to win, Mom.” I answered back, and then could not quite explain myself.
I will try here instead, my sweet mother, to explain it better.
I am not afraid to hurt, however much I do not want to hurt. I am afraid to grow numb and not feel. I am afraid more to never experience all the things I want to experience. I know it pains her to watch me stumble. It would pain me more if I sat down right where I was and stopped moving forward.
Each heartache has led me on to the next part of my life. Each joy also led me to the next too. I only hope she understands that it is her who taught me to be strong no matter what happens.
I know there must be times she wishes she could just step in and stop me in my tracks when she sees me teetering on the edge. I want her to know that though I am an eternal klutz I do manage balancing on the edges quite well. And when I fall, somewhere on the way down, I grab hold of her and my father, my sister and my brother, my family and friends and never quite reach that bottom. I am thankful to have them to break some of my fall.
My mother is fearful when I am out in this world that I will make poor decisions due to me making several of them over the course of my life. It’s okay though, I fear the same thing for my children too. However, I want her to know I am more afraid of not choosing, of not deciding, of being paralyzed with fear that I can’t decide. Instead I choose to choose. Even if it’s blindly, I choose to do something rather than nothing.
My mother wishes to know I’m settled in life, that I have someone to love me and someone to love, someone to lean on as well as someone who can lean on me, someone to bring me happiness as well as someone I can bring happiness too. I want those same things. That is why I am choosing to be brave. I know there are heartaches around every corner, the possibilities of heartaches. But there is also the possibility, the probability of, and the hope of all we wish for.
I have to be willing to take chances and to expose the real me to be able to really live my life. I fear rejection at every turn. I can spin my head in circles in those dark still moments when I look at everything with a cynical eye rather than a hopeful one. I can talk myself into never leaving the house again if I stop to think of every horror that could possibly befall me. I am not going to do that though. I’m just going to take a deep breath and do what I have always done which is keep at it.
I am as terrified as you, my sweet mother, but I am sure too, with you behind me, I will do just fine. Don’t forget I had a most stubborn woman raise me.
Monika M. Basile
I tried to assure her that I was willing to take the risk and that I would be okay. “You have to play to win, Mom.” I answered back, and then could not quite explain myself.
I will try here instead, my sweet mother, to explain it better.
I am not afraid to hurt, however much I do not want to hurt. I am afraid to grow numb and not feel. I am afraid more to never experience all the things I want to experience. I know it pains her to watch me stumble. It would pain me more if I sat down right where I was and stopped moving forward.
Each heartache has led me on to the next part of my life. Each joy also led me to the next too. I only hope she understands that it is her who taught me to be strong no matter what happens.
I know there must be times she wishes she could just step in and stop me in my tracks when she sees me teetering on the edge. I want her to know that though I am an eternal klutz I do manage balancing on the edges quite well. And when I fall, somewhere on the way down, I grab hold of her and my father, my sister and my brother, my family and friends and never quite reach that bottom. I am thankful to have them to break some of my fall.
My mother is fearful when I am out in this world that I will make poor decisions due to me making several of them over the course of my life. It’s okay though, I fear the same thing for my children too. However, I want her to know I am more afraid of not choosing, of not deciding, of being paralyzed with fear that I can’t decide. Instead I choose to choose. Even if it’s blindly, I choose to do something rather than nothing.
My mother wishes to know I’m settled in life, that I have someone to love me and someone to love, someone to lean on as well as someone who can lean on me, someone to bring me happiness as well as someone I can bring happiness too. I want those same things. That is why I am choosing to be brave. I know there are heartaches around every corner, the possibilities of heartaches. But there is also the possibility, the probability of, and the hope of all we wish for.
I have to be willing to take chances and to expose the real me to be able to really live my life. I fear rejection at every turn. I can spin my head in circles in those dark still moments when I look at everything with a cynical eye rather than a hopeful one. I can talk myself into never leaving the house again if I stop to think of every horror that could possibly befall me. I am not going to do that though. I’m just going to take a deep breath and do what I have always done which is keep at it.
I am as terrified as you, my sweet mother, but I am sure too, with you behind me, I will do just fine. Don’t forget I had a most stubborn woman raise me.
Monika M. Basile
April 29, 2012
Never Give Up
“Never give up...” most believe this is a quote from Winston Churchill. However, he really said, “Never give in...” I believe both thoughts are true. It’s why I am still here doing this dating thing. I’m not giving up.
I have been told by several people that I am absolutely nuts to continue this on especially because of the outcome of my last few dates. Lately, I have had some really great first dates with interesting men only to be asked a different version of the same question the next day.
“What do you like?” meaning sexually.
I am baffled and disappointed.
Part of me wonders if men encounter so many prudish women that they live in fear of every woman being prudish that maybe they ask to know up front. Yet I am utterly uncomfortable to answer that question from a stranger. It is intimate and private and something to be explored by lovers. It isn’t prudish to say, “I don’t know you well enough to talk of such things.”
I feel I might have a knack at magic because then that man suddenly disappears. Ta da!
It’s okay. At least I know right then that we are not a match. It is one step closer to the man I will be a match to.
I keep getting the same advice from family and friends, “Give up on the online dating thing. Try to meet someone at the grocery store or the library or church. Have friends set you up...”
My job takes me to the grocery store several times a week. I am there so much all of the employees know me by name. The produce man, Patrick, hugs me every week. We chat about his upcoming move to Vegas. The check out lady, Yvonne, asks how the kids are and what I’ve been up to. I am in the grocery store constantly. I have had several inebriated men hit on my in the aisles of the grocery store. I even had an old drunk man climb into the bin of watermelons to pick me the perfect one ( it actually was perfect). Yet, I haven’t met the man of my dreams but I am open to it if he shows up there in the middle of the frozen foods section.
All of my friends are in relationships or married. I am the single one. The fifth wheel, the one who messes up the dinner party. Nobody seems to know anyone male who is single. So unless I am being set up with the invisible man...it ain’t gonna work.
“It’ll happen when you are not looking...”
That to me is the painful one. I don’t know how to not look. Does that mean it will never happen? I don’t intend to imply that I am desperately running through the streets with a wild look in my eyes, whispering under my breath, “Please, please...somebody pick me.” Because I’m not. I just can’t pretend that I have no concern with ever having someone to share my life with. Because I do. It’s why I’m here and not giving up on any part of it, not on the good and not in the midst of the bad.
I am not giving in to the thoughts I sometimes have of, “How can this possibly be worth it?” or of , “Why am I doing this to myself?” and I refuse to believe that even most men are so ill mannered to want to know my every sexual desire without ever knowing me. They are not.
On I go, plugging away, meeting interesting people I may never see again. Stepping one step closer to maybe finding one of the ones who is stepping one step closer to finding me.
Monika M. Basile
I have been told by several people that I am absolutely nuts to continue this on especially because of the outcome of my last few dates. Lately, I have had some really great first dates with interesting men only to be asked a different version of the same question the next day.
“What do you like?” meaning sexually.
I am baffled and disappointed.
Part of me wonders if men encounter so many prudish women that they live in fear of every woman being prudish that maybe they ask to know up front. Yet I am utterly uncomfortable to answer that question from a stranger. It is intimate and private and something to be explored by lovers. It isn’t prudish to say, “I don’t know you well enough to talk of such things.”
I feel I might have a knack at magic because then that man suddenly disappears. Ta da!
It’s okay. At least I know right then that we are not a match. It is one step closer to the man I will be a match to.
I keep getting the same advice from family and friends, “Give up on the online dating thing. Try to meet someone at the grocery store or the library or church. Have friends set you up...”
My job takes me to the grocery store several times a week. I am there so much all of the employees know me by name. The produce man, Patrick, hugs me every week. We chat about his upcoming move to Vegas. The check out lady, Yvonne, asks how the kids are and what I’ve been up to. I am in the grocery store constantly. I have had several inebriated men hit on my in the aisles of the grocery store. I even had an old drunk man climb into the bin of watermelons to pick me the perfect one ( it actually was perfect). Yet, I haven’t met the man of my dreams but I am open to it if he shows up there in the middle of the frozen foods section.
All of my friends are in relationships or married. I am the single one. The fifth wheel, the one who messes up the dinner party. Nobody seems to know anyone male who is single. So unless I am being set up with the invisible man...it ain’t gonna work.
“It’ll happen when you are not looking...”
That to me is the painful one. I don’t know how to not look. Does that mean it will never happen? I don’t intend to imply that I am desperately running through the streets with a wild look in my eyes, whispering under my breath, “Please, please...somebody pick me.” Because I’m not. I just can’t pretend that I have no concern with ever having someone to share my life with. Because I do. It’s why I’m here and not giving up on any part of it, not on the good and not in the midst of the bad.
I am not giving in to the thoughts I sometimes have of, “How can this possibly be worth it?” or of , “Why am I doing this to myself?” and I refuse to believe that even most men are so ill mannered to want to know my every sexual desire without ever knowing me. They are not.
On I go, plugging away, meeting interesting people I may never see again. Stepping one step closer to maybe finding one of the ones who is stepping one step closer to finding me.
Monika M. Basile
