Be Here

“Is he worth it?”

The communication continues. Amplified. It is the loudest voice in my head. What would I wear to meet his parents? The most ridiculous thoughts cascade across my brain at the most inopportune times. He is exactly 2408 miles away. 3 hours behind. Light years away from my immediate world. But then at the same time he is everywhere. He buzzes away in my pocket while I’m on a date. His voice is tucked inside my purse while I’m at work. His words are on my computer screen late at night, early in the morning, somewhere in between. Go away. Stay. Stay there. Be here.

… is he worth it?

Pause. Step.

Look before you leap. Sound advice for anyone. But what if you cannot look ahead? What if there is a mist, shrouding the path? How do you decide whether to take a step in one direction or the other when both are equally hidden in the billowing fog? A step in one direction could either lead me onwards and upwards or plunge me into a ditch where I would find myself in over my head. A step in the other direction could either be one of safety and cautiousness or one that eventually ends up retarding my progress. How do you pick? How do you decide? At what point do you make a leap of faith when you cannot look ahead?At what point do you decide to take the next step, and when is it more appropriate to rein things in, and say: not yet?

Was/Is

It was the perfect week. It started off with a fight to clear the air. From there we progressed to hanging out with his family and lazily reading books on the dock. I went tubing and didn't drown as I secretly expected. I went fishing and didn't catch a single fish much to my squeamish heart's relief. Cuddling up with him at night I felt warm and happy - right before I turned into an ice ball because of the freakish temperature drop, but that's another story.

But at the end of this lovely week unfortunately and unwillingly I thought: I am not the only one who ever fished and tubed and read and relaxed and ate and laughed with them. I wasn't the first. I am not the only.

People have pasts. They move on. Stop thinking about that so much. I know. I know. S is right, I should remember I'm the present. This is the present. But it nags at me once in a blue moon. At the back of my mind is that little bleating thought.

If I can compare him to that tall dark and handsome hero of my dreams, that unseen unknown prince charming of my imagination, how much more immediate a comparison with a real being. A woman who lived and breathed. Still lives and breathes. Real memories powerful with the gloss of time.

It doesn't matter. Not, apparently, to him. In fact, I'm not entirely certain it matters to me either. But sometimes...you just can't help but wonder, can you?

Blind Ambition

The city races, its veins coursing with passionate, driven people. The most renowned fashion editor in the world. The most esteemed real estate mogul. The flawless runway models. The Wall Street tycoons. If you aren’t willing to sacrifice love, health, and happiness for success, better move to Topeka. The pressure to be great is staggering.

My father stares at me with a face so similar to my own, eyes blank. “How are you going to pay for this?”
“What? I don’t know, loans?” He nods, raises his eye brows. Yeah, right, Lauren. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.
We get up to leave the lunch table and he mentions a golf event we should attend next August.
“I won’t be here,” I remind him.
“Why not?” I glare. “Oh right, you’ll be in San Francisco.”

I have come to abhor New York City for so many reasons but in the last five years it has taught me well. See something, go after it. Find a way. Get a second job. Take a chance. Risk everything you have because at this point, everything you have isn’t a whole lot.

"Maybe you'll go to Irish Culinary School." It isn't a hopeful suggestion. It's a crack at my previous plans to move to Ireland. Another pipe dream that turned out to be exactly that.

My parents’ support means so much to me, more than I wish it did. And the negativity seeps into every crack in my plan. All I can do is try to force it out.

Mind Racing

I can't sleep... can he?

Why didn't I put on something less I-just-got-off-the-bus-from-New-York? Me in Toms, carting around an obnoxiously bright pink duffel bag; him pulling off his polka-dotted tie. Granted, he had had his first day of work, and I was coming from the aforementioned bus but... should I have made a more conscious effort? (Was this a date?)

Did I talk too much? Laugh too loudly? At times my enthusiasm can be too in your face... did he remark it as such? What does one talk about on these things anyway? (Was this a date?)

Was it ok that I paid? I was the one that offered to take him out for a celebratory first day drink... when he put down his credit card to split the bill, was he trying to give me a signal? Why then did he graciously accept my gesture? (Was this a date?)

Did I really vaguely salute him as a goodbye on the metro? Why didn't I go for the hug? The kiss on the cheek? The kiss? Why didn't he? Our giant hello hug lingered. (Was this a date?)

He is in my city. And so it begins.

Dress Lust

Crushes are all the same. Distracted by daydreams, thoughts swarming of what it could be like.. what it would be like, if only.. If only I could have what I want. I always do this to myself, I let the projected image carry me away and seduce my affections.

See.. there is this dress. Bottega Veneta Spring 2007. I’ll never forget the first time I saw her in the pages of Vogue. She was sweet and sexy, pale pink the color of summer, peasant accents; I needed her then and I dream of her even now. As I plan my Marie Antoinette themed birthday picnic I envision myself only in this dress. She haunts me as if she is the only dress that will fit this occasion; the only dress that will give me that girlish twirl. The torture is ceaseless because nothing else ever measures up.

This is my life. I develop an intense crush on a concept or a piece and I know if I could just try it on, if I would only try it on, if I could just find what I am looking for, all of my lustful illusions would dissipate. However, it is only a figure of my imagination and will therefore live on to torture me through eternity. This is my relationship with style and fashion and this will probably never change.

A soft mist grows

I stare up at the ceiling in the darkness. Once again I cannot sleep. I try to imagine myself on the beach, imagine myself sleeping, imagine myself sitting by a warm crackling fire. I try to imagine out the solutions to my problems, both real and perceived. I try to imagine fantastical scenarios. And I stare up at the ceiling in the darkness.

Tick tock, tick tock, tick...silence. I took out the batteries. Crick Crick Crick Crick. Can't stop the crickets.

I get out of bed, I walk around the house. If only I lived in an old and mysterious castle, I'd hobnob with the ghosts.

And deep inside I see it. Curled up into a little ball. Inside my very insides. Soft and deep and dense. Small yet. But there, every day, there, making its presence felt. I catch my breath sometimes on this little misty ball of dissatisfaction. I try to ignore it. I will it away. I put a gloss of happy on it. And still it sits, deep, there, inside me.

I stare up at the ceiling in the darkness. Finally I let my mind wander where I'm afraid to let it go. Maybe making a list of everything keeping me awake at night will help. Maybe I can make a counter list to remind myself of everything that goes into the happy gloss.

I sleep.

I wake up.

I have breakfast.

I catch my breath.

And I know it hasn't gone away.