Day 3: 1:30 p.m.
I'm a bit in love.
I say "a bit" because it's new. Really new. In fact, it's too new to even say, "I'm in love." But there you have it. I'm a quandary to myself.
The one I'm "a bit" in love with is a beautiful man. Funny. Deep. Calm. Honorable. Decent. He's a genuine mensch and most amazing to me, the guy is a former Green Beret.
How does a Buddhist end up with a guy who served in the military?
Another quandary.
But here's the deal. I finally feel safe in the company of a man who knows how to behave like a gentleman. He has discipline. He makes sure I'm okay. He looks out for me and is protective of me and that feels very odd. I'm all out of sorts most of the time.
I've never had a guy like this guy. Not since my own father, who died when I was nine. And that father didn't really look out for me very well--now that I look back. He was a good guy but like a lot of men of that generation, he had other things on his mind--money, debt, responsibility.
My mom died when I was seven so on the day my dad died, I knew my future was up to one person. Me. I was on my own. Alone. It was the world against Jennifer and in a lot of ways, it's been true. Or I've made it true. 39 years is a long time to be in a dangerous world, never feeling safe--even in my own home. I have paired myself with guys who have been less than decent to me, who argue, who are insecure, who are controlling and competitive and manipulative. All of them had their good sides, it's true but I never felt safe. I picked those guys because they were familiar to me. They were the way I was raised--always on edge--surrounded by people I couldn't trust.
Being Jennifer has been like being homeless all the time. Even though I'm not on the streets. I am on the streets inside myself. I live "on alert."
The difference between the homeless people I'm meeting and myself? I don't hold out my hand or ask for help or even accept help when it's offered. Until now. Until this guy who I let myself be "a bit" in love with and who takes my hand and looks out for me. I trust him, which is weird because I don't trust anyone. Heck, most of the time, I don't even trust myself.
And all of this is what I think about--the being "a bit" in love and the way I've lived inside--when I cross the street down by Whole Foods in the Pearl. I've just come from a therapy session, where I try to figure myself out and there they are. Damian and his dog.
Talk about tattoos. Damian has taken it beyond tear drops. He's all tattoos everywhere I can see and I dig into my purse.
Without a moment of hesitancy, he takes my money and we talk.
I get his name and his dog's name (which I forgot right away). I get his story too. Damian is with his brother, they are on their way to South Dakota for the beet harvest, they need some form of ID for travel. Once they have their ID's, they are gone. He nods while he talks and I can tell he's worried. He's in his head making his plans and he says his dog has been with them all along. The dog is a good friend. Damian and his brother, yes, they plan to leave town soon and they will take the dog with the name I forgot.
That dog is not remotely interested in me. That dog is on his back, all spread eagle, tummy up for what looks like a long tummy rub. In fact, the closer I look at the photo, the more I realize--that dog isn't a he. Damian's dog is a she. Two guys and their sweet, vulnerable, trusting girl dog.
"Can I take your photo?" I ask.
Damian doesn't hesitate. He doesn't even flinch. He's like, "Sure, no problem," and while I snap off two, he talks more about the trip he needs to make to South Dakota.
I'd be like, "what the fu#$? Why do you want my photo?" I'd be full of attitude but he's not. He's chill-calm-relaxed. He waits on his brother. He pets the dog.
The surrender of this kid.
Where does his courage come from?
I wish I asked him that question because I feel like I could use some of his guts for being vulnerable and depending on the kindness of others. He relies on me. And on so many others. All the time. All day long.
I want to feel what Damian feels--safe enough to ask for help and then to take what's offered without a bit of apology.
TIME TAKEN: 5 minutes
DOLLARS GIVEN: $1.00
I say "a bit" because it's new. Really new. In fact, it's too new to even say, "I'm in love." But there you have it. I'm a quandary to myself.
The one I'm "a bit" in love with is a beautiful man. Funny. Deep. Calm. Honorable. Decent. He's a genuine mensch and most amazing to me, the guy is a former Green Beret.
How does a Buddhist end up with a guy who served in the military?
Another quandary.
But here's the deal. I finally feel safe in the company of a man who knows how to behave like a gentleman. He has discipline. He makes sure I'm okay. He looks out for me and is protective of me and that feels very odd. I'm all out of sorts most of the time.
I've never had a guy like this guy. Not since my own father, who died when I was nine. And that father didn't really look out for me very well--now that I look back. He was a good guy but like a lot of men of that generation, he had other things on his mind--money, debt, responsibility.
My mom died when I was seven so on the day my dad died, I knew my future was up to one person. Me. I was on my own. Alone. It was the world against Jennifer and in a lot of ways, it's been true. Or I've made it true. 39 years is a long time to be in a dangerous world, never feeling safe--even in my own home. I have paired myself with guys who have been less than decent to me, who argue, who are insecure, who are controlling and competitive and manipulative. All of them had their good sides, it's true but I never felt safe. I picked those guys because they were familiar to me. They were the way I was raised--always on edge--surrounded by people I couldn't trust.
Being Jennifer has been like being homeless all the time. Even though I'm not on the streets. I am on the streets inside myself. I live "on alert."
The difference between the homeless people I'm meeting and myself? I don't hold out my hand or ask for help or even accept help when it's offered. Until now. Until this guy who I let myself be "a bit" in love with and who takes my hand and looks out for me. I trust him, which is weird because I don't trust anyone. Heck, most of the time, I don't even trust myself.
And all of this is what I think about--the being "a bit" in love and the way I've lived inside--when I cross the street down by Whole Foods in the Pearl. I've just come from a therapy session, where I try to figure myself out and there they are. Damian and his dog.
Talk about tattoos. Damian has taken it beyond tear drops. He's all tattoos everywhere I can see and I dig into my purse.Without a moment of hesitancy, he takes my money and we talk.
I get his name and his dog's name (which I forgot right away). I get his story too. Damian is with his brother, they are on their way to South Dakota for the beet harvest, they need some form of ID for travel. Once they have their ID's, they are gone. He nods while he talks and I can tell he's worried. He's in his head making his plans and he says his dog has been with them all along. The dog is a good friend. Damian and his brother, yes, they plan to leave town soon and they will take the dog with the name I forgot.
That dog is not remotely interested in me. That dog is on his back, all spread eagle, tummy up for what looks like a long tummy rub. In fact, the closer I look at the photo, the more I realize--that dog isn't a he. Damian's dog is a she. Two guys and their sweet, vulnerable, trusting girl dog.
"Can I take your photo?" I ask.
Damian doesn't hesitate. He doesn't even flinch. He's like, "Sure, no problem," and while I snap off two, he talks more about the trip he needs to make to South Dakota.
I'd be like, "what the fu#$? Why do you want my photo?" I'd be full of attitude but he's not. He's chill-calm-relaxed. He waits on his brother. He pets the dog.
The surrender of this kid.
Where does his courage come from?
I wish I asked him that question because I feel like I could use some of his guts for being vulnerable and depending on the kindness of others. He relies on me. And on so many others. All the time. All day long.
I want to feel what Damian feels--safe enough to ask for help and then to take what's offered without a bit of apology.
TIME TAKEN: 5 minutes
DOLLARS GIVEN: $1.00
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