Let There Be Passion

23 Aug

Here’s a question I’ve been asking myself for quite some time now: What sparks passion between two people?

For me, in my life, it’s never really been about external appearance. That isn’t to say that I don’t care about a man’s looks at all, but rather that I don’t really have a type, and can find myself drawn to almost any type of look as long as there’s ‘the spark’. The spark is difficult to explain, but for the sake of science, I’m going to try. So after a lot of consideration, here they are, the top 5 qualities in a man that attract me:

1. Men I am drawn to are confident. It can be any kind of confidence, either the guy’s good looking and he knows it, or he’s smart and he knows it, or he’s a good flirt and he had me at hello and he knows it. It doesn’t really matter what he’s confident about, but basically he knows he’s a catch. There is a limit of course, because over-confidence is a definite turn off.

2. A man I’m attracted knows what he wants, and it’s me. It’s definitely a huge turn on when a man doesn’t linger or hesitate, but shows his interest – loud and clear.

3. This one is probably evolutionary. In terms of looks, I’m attracted to a healthy looking man. Not too skinny, not to robust, energetic, easygoing, if he’s into any form of sports that’s a bonus, if he likes good food (not processed junk) that’s a bonus. He better not smoke and he better have a healthy sex drive.

4. Sensitive, but not melodramatic. This guy will totally catch on if I’m having an off day. He’s sensitive enough to notice when we’re making out and I’m not really into it. He might ask if I’m ok or let me know that if I want to talk, he’s there. But unless I initiate a conversation, he’s not going to make an issue out of me being a little moody. Instead, he’ll touch me in all the right places to help me forget about everything.

5. Finally, and this is maybe one of the most important points, I’m attracted to men who are generally happy, who like their lives and feel good about themselves and their situation. It doesn’t really matter what they do for a living, how much money they make, what their goals are or what they’ve achieved. If it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for me.

The Single Mom’s Ark

22 Aug

In this dream, I was at the school where I teach, and very heavy rain was falling.

My school was not in the building where it is in real life, it was a giant farmhouse. I was working on something in the basement with my principal and some other teachers, when the place began to get flooded. Water was coming in from everywhere and the floors and carpeting were drenched within seconds. Somehow, none of us was surprised. Heavy rain had been falling for days, maybe weeks, without stopping for a second. We knew a flood was coming. And we knew, somehow, that it meant the end of us. Principal looked at us with a face that meant, sometimes it’s just the end, and you have to accept it. Everyone had pretty much made peace with death.

I did too for a minute, but then I saw him. Standing on the steps – my beautiful son. And I knew I couldn’t give up.

The first thing I did was yell at everyone, including Principal, to get out of the basement. We got to the main floor of the house and I remembered I had seen a water tower somewhere. That was plan A, to climb the water tower and wait there, maybe the storm would end.

But on the way to the tower I had a better idea. I would build an ark. And if I couldn’t manage that, then at least a raft. All the other teachers, the principal, they would all help. We’d manage together. But we needed tools. So bravely I went back to the house and into the flooded basement, looking for whatever I could find, screwdrivers, a hammer, a couple of candles and matches. I couldn’t get everything I needed, but I made do with what I could find quickly and fled.

As I walked towards the water tower where we would be spending the night, I thought to myself that we were all going to be OK, and that it would be thanks to me. Building an ark, surviving a flood, it’s been done before. No reason it couldn’t be done again.


Crying Over an Old Photo

16 Aug

I have it in my old email account, the one that I’ve shut down long ago. It dates around February 2013, eighteen months ago. It’s a selfie of us, at the park and it’s the only one I have of him.

SG is sitting behind me, and I am leaning back against him. I can still feel the warmth of his arms wrapped around me. His face is in my hair, and he’s kissing the top of my head. His long auburn curls are a jumble around us, hiding his face, so all you can see is a bit of his forehead and his long lashes over closed eyelids.

And you can see me, looking straight at the camera. I’d taken my glasses off. I’m smiling, the kind of smile that comes from within, the kind you cannot fake, that means that you’re trully content.

I remember that gray sweatshirt, the one with the hood that he wore on laid back days, like that one at the park. I’d gotten off work early and picked him up. We went to that spot I used to go to with friends to talk when I was 19 and my heart was still unbroken. We climbed up the wooden ladder to where the tall slide is. No one was there, so we just sat at the top, and he held me, and we talked for a long time.

Sometimes, out of anger or frustration, I think that what I had with SG wasn’t real. I tell myself he was in it for the sex, or for the adventure of being with an older woman. I tell myself that he didn’t actually love me. But pictures cannot lie.

Looking at this one, now, I know what we had. And I wonder if I will ever have it again.

And then I cry… And listen to this.


30 Jul

I used to not have fantasies, or if I did, they were very PG. I’d get really embarrassed even just thinking about sex. My relationship with BD began when I was 19, newly secular, with religious residue that made me very much a prude. So our relationship was a kind, caring, loving one, and sex was missionary and respectable. That did change some with time, but I was never entirely free that way.

As for being attracted to others, thinking about other men – that was completely taboo. For years, I’d never even notice if a hot guy passed me by. All my girlfriends would be drooling, and I’d be like – hey, what did I miss? I was a one-man-woman, in life, in my thoughts, even in my dreams – honestly, I’d never even had a dream about another man. In 13 years, I’d say that’s weird.

But in the past two years, since becoming single again, I fantasize quite a lot, and I love it. Anytime, anywhere, my mind can wander and just think about – whatever… It’s liberating. Actually, what’s liberating is the fact that for the first time in my life, I feel totally free of guilty or otherwise negative emotions surrounding sexual thoughts. It’s my mind, it’s my right to think whatever I want with it, to imagine whatever I want with it, whoever I want, wearing whatever I decide, doing whatever I please. That might seem trivial to some of you, but it’s a novelty to me.

And there’s more to it that just liberation, although that is a big part of it. Fantasizing makes me feel alive. Let’s face it, adult day to day life can wear you out. It’s getting up every morning, coffee, breakfast, putting the boy at daycare, work, lunch, more work, more coffee, picking up the boy, snack, play, dinner, shower, bed time, clean up, sacred time for me, sleep, coffee, breakfast etc… Obviously, there are many pleasures in this routine. And yet, the fact that I can just be sitting at my desk, and suddenly be somewhere else in my mind, somewhere exciting… That’s just amazing to me.

My fantasies aren’t always sexual. It’s really about daydreaming. Lately I’ve found myself having full on conversations in my head with people, playing them out like I’m writing a script, and enjoying them immensely. A talk with my boss turns into a huge promotion and shitloads of money and vacation time. In a talk with an ex who broke my heart, he ends up confessing he still loves me, and I get to say that I’m over it. It can be anything I’ve been wanting to happen, or dreaming about, as far fetched from reality as can be. And there it is materialized before me, for a few minutes of pure uncensored pleasure.

There I am, at the gym, I just finished my run and am high on adrenaline, laying down on a mat to stretch. That hot instructor that I am always staring at is suddenly approaching me. He wants to see if I need help, which I obviously do. As he leans over me, helping me stretch my legs, one hand securing my shoulder, I can feel the heat from his body, as his biceps gleam with sweat. We now realize we are alone at the gym (somehow – in fantasies it doesn’t really matter how), and our eyes lock as we sink into a…

Shit. Green light. I guess I should save this one for later :)

Real Woman

28 Jul

As usually happens when I’m confused about where my life is going, and as usually happens after hooking up with an ex (sadly that’s happened to me more than once in the past couple of years) I enter a melancholy pondering mood, which brings me to revisit former relationships and wonder about what went wrong and how somehow I was to blame for everything.

Even though I haven’t seen him in almost 14 months, my go to guy for memories of what it felt like to be in love, is still SG. So I was thinking about him, about how much I had allowed myself to open up to him and be vulnerable, about how he broke it off with me that morning, after having spent an incredible night together, how he’d said he loved me, but couldn’t be with someone who had a son.

SG was a kid, I know that now (In all honesty, I knew it then too). A 26-year-old Peter Pan type, who could not commit to anything, from high school, to military service, to college, to a real woman. His ambitions were out of this world, he was always in the middle of a huge undertaking, never actually following through with things to the end. That’s what I was to him. An undertaking. His childish omnipotence-fantasy blinded him and made him decide to choose me, despite the age difference, the marital status difference, the fact that I had a son. He was excited by the fact that I wasn’t another one of these girlie-girls he was used to dating, the thin, pretty, clingy, boring type. I was a woman. A real woman. Happy with who I was – most of the time. Confident in my intelligence and competence. Curvaceous and beautiful as a real woman often tends to be. Knowing how to show affection, how to make a man feel special. All these qualities that drew SG to me, that made him feel lucky that he was free at last from past meaningless relationships… These qualities were also the ones that made him leave me.

I am a real woman. And alongside the benefits of being such, are the problems. Real women do not have girlie-girl-problems. It’s not about getting a bad grade on a course, having a bad hangover or arguing with a girlfriend. We have all the benefits of real women, and we have seriously fucked up real women problems to go along with them. Toddler temper tantrums. Juggling personal lives and careers. Mending broken hearts and wondering if we will ever be able to trust again. SG couldn’t handle me. So he left. Just like he’d left high school, and the army, and college. Just like I don’t really believe he will ever finish that list of 200 books he’d decided to read in the next 10 years, or learn French, Italian and Russian, or start playing the piano.

You can’t hail a cab in life, to get you from one point to another. Often, you have to walk, through murky filthy shitty sewage water to get to where you want to go. If you’re willing to put in the time, the effort and the faith necessary for the journey, you might actually get there.

I’m just about neck-high in shitty sewage water in my life right now, but I have the stamina to keep putting one foot before the other and keep my mouth shut so I don’t swallow any crap. I’m not the type to give up. Real women never do. I’m taking my real womaness and the problems that come with that awesome title, and we’re trekking to a place where we’re going to be truly happy. In like a year. Or two.

Horrible Hookup Haiku

27 Jul

Night, sirens holler

Stupid Hamas, sad and scared

Sleeping with the ex




Do What You Can… (The Evolution of Ideas.)

21 Jul


I am always telling myself: when you can – work. This means, use any opportunity to work, whatever work is at that time: things you need to do for your job, for your home, for your family, for your relationships, for yourself. Sometimes, it is very, very difficult to work. There are times in life when movement and progression are extremely limited. That’s why it’s so important not to waste any opportunities. Circumstances will rarely be optimal, but they are often enabling – to an extent. So work, whenever you can. Be active. Continue striving to achieve the things that matter to you. Do what you can, with what you have, from where you are.

Originally posted on JamesRadcliffe.com:

There is an idea, embodied in a quote that I recently read, which to my mind, is one of the most important and vital master keys to: living a life of joyeous productivity and achievement unhindered by unnecessary bullshit or false constraint.

It is an idea which has been battle tested by every single person throughout the whole of history, who has ever accomplished anything of significance.

It is fully timeless.  It is the internal foundation and impetus for all action.  It has been, and continues to be, of the greatest value in my own life.

Would you like to know what it is?…

View original 774 more words


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