CHAPTER 37

How I Stopped
Looking for Me in All
The Wrong Faces

   My new life centered around the squash club where I lived above it in the Plaza II high rise apartments and where my paintings hung in its lounge. I took their racquet theme as a message to “Have a BALL!..." and I did.

   After having been long confined to the struggle side of life, having married before ever dating, having leaped so quickly into my second wed-lock, and wanting to explore singlehood, I chose to savor that time of my life, pamper me and be guiltlessly selfish.

   Creative work became my prime focus and word spread quickly of my newly established freedom. This brought back many prior clients I lost due to their not liking Les, nor his demanding involvement in my negotiations.

   Two of the little but incredible new highs I cherished was talking on the phone without Les listening in, and being able to close my door to the world when I went home.

   Though I was alone, I was not lonely.

   I learned that there is no misery compared to living with someone you cannot be YOU with when the air reeks of fear and the floor's carpeted with egg-hells.

   To me, selfish meant giving myself permission and time to begin seeing the potential in myself rather than searching and fantasizing for it in reluctant others.

   I gave myself the freedom to be my exclusive state of the heart project, to focus on encouraging me to be whole and happy and to cease scattering my energies on impotent woes gardens, thus nurturing my own success-filled love buds.

   My selfishness was supported by my not looking back in anger toward my past, as anger only self-corrodes. Selfishness helped me Let Go by not spending energy on regret. I viewed the past as if it were a movie — and I made myself see the whole picture.

   By putting that Docu-Farce into perspective, I accepted all that occurred. By not making myself a Victor or Victim, neither right nor wrong, and by not making others heroes nor villains, I was able to shed more excess emotional weight, as I was not waiting for others to free me to be a free me.

   I used what went wrong as a guide for what NOT to do again and what went right as a guidebook for how to live.

   Ergo! I assembled my DO & DUMP Lists.

   The DO List held all the areas and attitudes of my past that worked in my finest favor, such as my creative expertise, organizational abilities and gift for working with celebrities — as well as my passion for enjoying life, love, music, giggles as well as great sunsets, escargots, champagne and chocolate.

   The DUMP List held, as you can imagine, every attitude and memory of pain that was not appropriate to the ME I wanted to be.

   The ME devoid of my Cosmic Girl Scout duds.

   The ME void of giving others control of my emotional buttons.

   A major part of that DUMP List was the memory I still carried of Ashley's boyfriends, the Uncle Scams I met as a kid who forced me to learn more about sex than I wanted.

   The soul message I derived from their Ashley Approved Violations was that me and my feelings were inconsequential other than as a puppet for their physical glutting.

   Ashley told me: “Make me happy and to go along with these harmless games (of what the Uncle Scams wanted). After all, you ought to be nice to my dates. It's the least you can do considering everything I do for you.”

   I wanted to ask for a list of her everything, but I didn't.

   Her communique proved to be a powerful opiate to my GUT Buddy's pleas to walk from that hoax. I was far too fixed on believing what I then wanted to believe, which was:

   By keeping this little secret, telling no one, and doing as told by Ashley, by being a “good obedient little girl,” I might actually be rewarded with Ashley's love.

   Poppycock!

   My girl goal was as viable as trying to get milk from a cow that's actually a lot of bull.

   In reflection, I sensed her kickback was being able to avoid any sexual acts with those guys while still collecting the gifts and pricey dates they lavished on her.

   The background music for this slice of strife might well have been What I Did For Love — the love she was never about to serve.

   The irony was that I expected to get motherly love in exchange for going along with such unloving, unmotherly suggestions.

   Then again, the quest for love where it isn't, leads so many of us, of all ages, into the Inner Sanctum of Stupidity.

   For years I hated myself for how I allowed her to use me. For how loathsome I felt inside. For the secrets I kept. For how I was duped.

   I despised that portion of my kidhood so thoroughly and pushed it so deeply inside the core of my feelings that in time I forgot it. Though its silent existence within me was like a tapeworm eating away at my sexuality as a woman and causing me to subliminally wonder:

    Is sex a man's game? A man's pleasure? As a woman do I have no right to say what I want or don't want? And, worst of all, must I ask for nothing and play puppet in order to be loved?

   Though my soul felt that was poppycock, my reality suspected it might be true on this planet.

   My first marriages were vivid displays for my misguided assumptions. I asked for no personal pleasure from those relationships, only to give and give more. And, I got what I asked for: Nothing. Nothing in the way of love, but lots in the way of education in what love isn't.

   If I continued to buy what my past was selling, I could have lived the rest of my life believing womanhood meant servicing a man; doing all the chores, cooking and errands without a glimmer of loving thanks; and definitely making no waves no matter how madly the ship of fools capsized in the shark infested slaughters.

   That idea screamed for an SOS as in Save One's Sanity.

   I answered that SOS by realizing: While I had not bought that assumption of life, I definitely took out a long term lease that distorted my presumption of reality. I believed that neither pleasure nor anything that made me feel terrific had anything to do with marriage. Romance never played a cameo role and friendship was out of the ballpark. Service was all. Wife equalled full-time live-in waitress less tips and with no time off.

   Or what I now call the MTV challenge of knowing a usual guy.

   You become his MTV: Mommy, Trophy & Vagina.

   I had buried my early sexual nightmares so deeply, I had no inkling of where my subservience originated. Nor why I let it be OK for me when my then-mates would refuse to discuss sex with me as I realized that, from the beginning, it was strongly implied that sex was an unspoken issue, and that my desires didn't matter.

   I needed to discover what I wanted. And, then give myself permission to talk about those wants.

   This revelation dawned as I wrote my DUMP List.

   It was overwhelming because the more I probed those crimes of my life, the faster my hidden nightmares poured from the archives of my sub-conscience.

   At once, my puzzle pieces fell into place. Visually I saw nothing as my eyes were too soaked with tears of horror, ire, and loathing.

   It felt so good to cry, as if I was draining the toxic puss from a kidhood wound.

   Tears cleared my head and I began to comprehend what had happened, how wrong it was and why I would be adding to the disservice by accepting the blame and guilt from what was forced upon the kid and the naive ex-wife I once was.

   I connected past causes to current emotional effects by encouraging myself to Look, Learn and Let Go. Completing my DUMP List was an exhausting session of reality facing.

   And! It was worth it.

   At the end I hugged myself for having the courage to self-cure those cancerous nightmares. By facing the Truth, I coached myself on the journey to my own healthy recovery from a guilt I did not realize was corrupting my ability to enjoy life and to enjoy being me.

   I saw how this denial of my most personal pleasures bled over into so many other facets of life. How it caused me to put my wants last in line, including, asking to see a TV show I wanted to see when an ex wanted to see a rented porn movie; asking for the minimal input of household help; believing I didn't have the right to ask my mate to not slob up our home as I trailed him as an invisible Casper the Butleress armed with Scott towels and Ajax; and, thinking I still had to do all the housework, even though I was striving for success in my career.

   Every denial and needless martyr act, which I assumed to be a to-be-accepted part of womanhood, was suddenly clear. It all seemed so obsolete. So self-abusing. So nutso.

   By viewing my past as both a seminar on HOW TO LIVE as well as HOW NOT TO LIVE, I was able to calmly thank it and bid it bye-bye. I could greet the future as if I landed on a brand new planet ripe for discovery.

   I was adamant that no past buzzard, even its shadow, would hover over my future and poop on my parade.

   Only I could give me a Let the Celebration Begin! Signal. And so I did.

   I'm not implying that Pollyanna was still my partner. But neither was I inviting Doubting Thomas or Gloomy Gus to tag along on the fellow-trick road.

   I figure every emotional stress has the ability to either Strengthen or Harden our Hearts. It's all choice, and the choice was easy. I chose Strength.

   Hardening would only sentence my spirit to a prison built by and wardened by my own Fear Fleas. No fun there!

   Free of fear, I was eager to glut on life. I hungered to taste it all! Creatively, no matter what challenge a client presented I grabbed it, and GLORY BE!, I succeeded.

   I even went on vacations all over the globe. Figuring we're all God's Family, I saw the world full of relatives I had yet to meet. And, as with any family, I realized I didn't have to like them all, as they didn't have to like me.

   Ergo! I was free to say Howdy without worry of the doody of what might come next.

   The art of solo flying was a fantastic confidence builder. And, beat the hell outta the trips I took with Les when all I got to see was the ladies rooms for drying tear soaked eyes or patching a bruised me back together again.

   The squash club at home, where I regularly hung out, served me a crash course in men, in dating, in coupling, in being a self-reliant woman. It also served me a smorgasbord of new people in all shapes, personas and marital statuses. I never laughed, learned nor partied so hearty before.

   I pampered myself every morning with a workout and sauna — an indulgence I never before tried.

   Selfish? You bet! I dabbled in racquet ball and hung out in the lounge when I wasn't working, or when I wanted some company without the commitment of a date.

   Many nights we formed groups and took off to dance the night away in nearby Yorkville, a posh boutique and sidewalk cafe area of Toronto. It was fantastic to have dance back in my life. And the platonic setup of The Gang gave me the freedom to kick up my heels without worrying if I was with a heel…or hero. I had given myself the independent freedom to go home alone — and love it!

   I was learning how to have male friends without romantic ties.

   Growing up with no male figure in my life, I realized I viewed men as aliens that you didn't share friendships with, just oppressive unions, or professional support.

   Because of the men I had formally been close to, the emotions I related to malehood were hostility, domination, manipulation, and distance. I wondered if all men were impervious to female needs, insensitive to caring about others. And, if they were born Takers or simply emotionless.

   This was an area wherein I definitely wanted to be wrong! But, in a partial sense, I wasn't, as I discovered that many guys take pride in their ruthlessness.

   But! That's life. So too, many women act the same way.

   It's not a sex issue, it's a personality choice.

   By having the chance to meet and know so many men all at once, I realized there were also middle-of-the-roaders between nerd and milktoast, as well as genuine good guys, sweethearts who were generous, fun-loving, honorable and strong enough to be vulnerable when they needed to be. Plus multi-combinations of all the above ingredients.

   I learned there are men I could share in-depth talk with on the meaning of life, as well as Adonises who made sure that when we dined, they sat themselves to adore their own mirrored image and panicked at a conversation deeper than their highest squash score, or their latest clothes purchase.

   Guys I called: magnificent skyscrapers with an incomplete penthouse = a male bimbo.

   In short, I discovered there was a greater panorama to the male personality, as there is with females, than I formerly misread due to my limited vista.

   I also learned there where as many guys complaining of not being able to link with a non-controlling, non-cheating, non-draining, loving, caring, and honest cheerful woman, as there were women issuing the same desires.

   By not letting the men of my past contaminate my view of the men in my future, the cynical germs never entered my system. By becoming a sister-at-large to many men, I lived the pleasure of male friendships, a connection I never knew was possible. By staying open, I realized the idea of another marriage need not be deleted from my one-day-me.

   That Whitwoman Sampler assured me that when the time comes, when I feelI ready, there are indeed many fish in the sea. And!

   I do not have to get swallowed by yet another barracuda. There is choice. My choice.

   By consciously detaching from seeking an immediate involvement with one man, I was honing my ability to see the whole picture of another by taking time to discover what I wanted in a relationship. And, what I was willing to give.

   Though I built a wall around my making any heartfelt commitment, I made sure I knew where the exit door was.

   By balancing my life with time for my career, my self-pampering, and my research of the male room, I made sure not to fool myself into thinking I needed a man to complete me as I came to love my own company so much that I knew it was going to take quite a guy to cause me to share it.

   I was determined to learn why many people's insight self-blinds when it comes to close relationships. Why so many are able to distinguish the Blesseds from the Buzzards when it comes to platonic friendships and business associates, yet not with intimate partners-to-be.

   The only answer I got was that sexual and romantic rushes tend to clog our GUT Detectors. Ergo! I figured, if a guy really turned me on, I might risk flying blind without radar.

   Ergo! Initial detachment seemed to be the best solution.

   I vowed to treat every new man I felt a personal interest in as a possible fellow I might introduce to a great girlfriend. Wanting the best for her, forced me to see and read the whole emotional resume — as best as I initially could.

   Splashing my way through the dating pool, I saw many swimmers sink due to selective telepathy. As if they hone into what and who the other is looking for and then become it, instinctively hiding whatever it is in their make-up kit that might abort the kinship.

   Each denies in themselves what they know the other does not want to see as each denies seeing what they do not want to see, as if a sexual surge inflicts a temporary lobotomy.

   It can even make a woman who hates sports say: “Oh, I'd just love going to a Lakers game with you, darling!”

   I swear whoever first said, “All's fair in love and war” must have said it from an asylum. Only dementia could link love and war. And! I'd hate to see the Karma Tab for all that inspired subterfuge.

   That welcome hiatus from commitment served endless experiences for learning How To:

Maintain compassion for others yet not let myself be used, nor abused;
Give my all yet not get taken;
Encourage dreamers yet not give up my own dreams;
Discern yet remain spontaneous;
Stay open yet not gullible;
Care for others yet never cover for others;
Welcome closeness yet never get so close that I lose me;
Never discredit others via fear of getting hurt;
Never overcredit others via wanting to see only the best;
Give 'til it helps, not 'til it hurts... me;
Please my monogamous nature yet not let that desire
cause me to rush blindly into a wrong commitment; and
Learn how to let the quality of the relationship remain a
priority over my theoretical dreamy goal.

   To that last one, I vowed: If I can't marry a man who is delightful to me as-is, forget it! So too I would not marry if I'm not delightful and acceptable as-is.

   I figure, if a union is not a mutual admiration society, it ain't worth joining. Which accounts for why I shared many flings during those years, never flinging myself into marriage, and why my career never soared to such heights before.

   Most of all, why that time span was one in which I sealed an unbreakable bond of friendship, love and self-esteem with myself. A Bond, a Dame's Bond, that caused me to pen a new code to live by:

SELFISH:

   The loving concern to take good care of me
without ever hurting others in the process.

Copyright © 2004 by Krystiahn