Want & Need

It's safe to say most of the world, of course, not the whole world, got a lot of what they wanted, and a lot of what they didn't want on Christmas Day.

A day of whispered wishes to a man in red with a white beard.  Letters written, documented, to the North Pole.

Parents scattered and frazzled, indebted and in love with making the wishes of their little ones come true.

But who is running around making my wishes come true?

Is that too selfish?  I am running around and I am frazzled and I am indebted to the laws of the world and I am not sure how real my wishes even are.  How valid?

I live as I do daily.  I work.  I love.  I make dinner.  I exercise.  And yet I want more.  And more.

I want more life, more love, more house, more money, more and more.

Is that selfish?

I also want all those altruistic things like health for my family, like care for Great Grandma, teenagers who are good.  My parents to live long and longer.  My brothers to be good and healthy.

I want and I want.

But I also need.

I need to feel.  For so long those feelings were on ice.  Better not to be thawed.  Time to put them back I think.  I want to be a creative.  I want to live in the world as a voice for passion, for love and yet I am afraid. So afraid of what might happen if I put one foot forward and then the next.  Despite failure, despite it all, I have yet to give it my all.  Because if I do I'm afraid the rest of my world will fall apart.

Santa didn't bring me a pink or a red bow.  But I bought myself a necklace today with the letter S.  My letter.  My life.  My S.  For me.

Today my sister-in-law and I went for brunch and we ran into literally the real version of, Barbie's  Ken.  He stood in front of us with his boyfriend/date and he said, "Excuse Me."

The beautiful talk.  The beautiful have manners.  The beautiful have perfect puffed lips, that were not enhanced as far as my untrained eye could tell.  Just natural.  Just there in the world. OMG, this man was gorgeous. So gorgeous. And safe.  Safe to like, safe to love from far, far away.

I need.

I want.

I have a lot to figure out.  As we all do, beings that we are, housed in bodies living life and doing our best to not implode daily.  And somehow we get through and we think, enough is enough.  It is not.

Pay attention to what you need.  My beautiful Ken, I didn't need him, but it was oh so nice to have him mannerly move himself out of the way so that we could get into the tiny quaint restaurant to have our, ever-so-of-the-moment, avocado toast.

I need so much more.  We all do.

Sandra XXOO

Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

Twas the night before Christmas Eve Eve and all through my head thoughts of wrapping are stirring.

The real kind, lots to do there.  But also the figurative kind, like you a little bit, Santa.

I haven’t written a letter to Santa in, OMG, who knows how long, but here goes.  I would like my Self Worth back, fully wrapped in a bow and ready to go.

Somewhere along the way I lost most of it or some of it, depending up on the day.  Most times I manage to pin bits and parts back to myself, but they only hold for brief amounts of time, sometimes even years, almost fooling me that it’s back.

And then a really strong gust of wind comes by and whooshes it all away, just like the fluff it was, and I am naked again and naïve and scared in the world.  And so I try and fake it.  Naughty, I know, but what else is a girl to do, I can’t walk around bosoms swinging and bottoms wagging. 

I’m kneeling before you now with a crown full of pleases and thank yous.  The kind I give out on a regular basis and I’m dressed fairly nicely, have a decent job, even an education and I’ve got a really good family.  I look the part.  Please.  The latest self-worth band-aids have come off and in their place I find myself flailing in a sea of tears, un-common sense and fear.

But I do keep trying, but the jig is up.  I can’t keep repeating I am good enough when I don’t feel that way, I can’t keep repeating I am enough when I feel way less than, I can’t keep it up.

But I know, I know, a sliver of me knows, I belong here.  I want the real thing.  I know it exists.  I’ve seen it.  I’ve had fleeting and forever moments where I tasted it, smelled it, wrapped my grubby arms around it and held it tight.

That’s all I want for Christmas. 

P.S. My favourite colours are pink and blue.  So either colour bow will do.

Sandra XXOO

I'm not worth crying over.

An old boyfriend who wasn't worth crying over said this to me once, "Don't cry over me Sandra, I'm not worth it."

I didn't listen.  I cried waterfalls, I chased them, just like that song said not to.  TLC. I was smitten, but not in the right ways.  I was young and young.  I didn't know that you should listen to someone when they tell you who they are the first time.  This is one of Dr. Maya Angelou's life lessons to Oprah.

But could they be hiding behind a screen of insecurity, just like you might be.  You've told many people who you are.

I have.

And, each time, I can't help but let the truth out a little more each time.  I can't hide behind false masks.  Or false promises.  Except when it comes to myself.

But, something drastic happened this week.

Unheard of.

I have forgiven myself for everything.

EVERYTHING.

There is always going to be someone who is prettier. Have you seen Helena Christenen's Instagram feed, OMG. That woman is perfect.  I digress.

And, I will have to forgive myself again tomorrow, until I learn that my tears are not for anyone but me.  If I choose to let them flow.  If I choose to love myself just a little bit more.  I can be there for those I love fully and completely.  That's not the point though, is it?

We carry around so much guilt, insecurity, longing, love, and loathing.  The burden would break anyone with half a brain and yet we walk around with full brains, and we work, we love and we pretend that everything is okay.

I'm here to say that sometimes I'm not okay and I am not going to believe you if you tell me that you are not worth crying over, because I get to do that.  That is my choice.  And the next day I will forgive myself, because maybe that is who you really are, and maybe it's not.

Sandra XXOO

When is it time to say Good-Bye?

When is it time to say good-bye?

After you've been trying to fit in?

Your favourite grocery store ups and ups the prices, and all of  a sudden those walking the aisles around you are different, very different, your friends had called and called you to come with them.  They wanted you to follow them away from this new and fancy place; but they abandoned you once they realized you couldn't hear them.  Their caution. The chaos.  The love.

And now your apartment costs too much and those around you have only curated tears (as in tear apart) in their jeans, and in their shoes.   They know no other way.  But you do and you refuse to leave.

I belong here even though my one dollar has to last a day.

I belong here.

Love.

Chaos.

Caution.

They are in tandem, no one can tell me that love doesn't flirt with chaos and then caution usually puts a big old stop sign in front.  The ones in Texas have red Christmas lights around them.  If anyone can make you stop....

The glittery lights.  They can keep you interested in the notion for a while.  But usually and stupidly we keep on going.

Work can keep you interested for a while, until that very heart of yours, whose job it is really to only pump all the blood, and not feel says, darling we're tired of this rodeo.  We know you wish for bigger and better.  But you've got it good enough.  Wonderful enough and the heart doesn't STOP, and the pain of what could have been fades with each resume written.  You decide enough is enough.

And your soul reaches out from the very depths:  "Darling stop feeling like you're second class.  Stop.  You already have somewhere you belong."

And you leave your enchanted new land, because what you know is way better than what you don't.

You rip your jeans a little to widely and you yell at the full moon that "Enough is Enough.  It's okay, you're back to being you."

The moon winks with eyelashes drawn that day and says, "We'll see my baby, each of you has your own way to love."

Sandra XXOO