Category Archives: Happiness

Something Sweet

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I remember when my sister first started dating her husband. She was in nursing school and he was an exchange student going to college in Syracuse, living in the U.S. on a temporary Visa. They hadn’t been dating very long when she brought him home for the first time to meet our family. When we were alone, I remember her telling me how he first told her that he loved her.

He told me he loved me and I said ‘But you barely even know me.’

His response was “What I do know about you, I already love.”

 

I’ll never forget that because it was terribly romantic and sweet. And I was still a teenager and I hadn’t experienced real love yet.

And as I am writing this I realize that I don’t remember the first time my ex-husband told me that he loved me.

Maybe because it wasn’t memorable.

Or maybe because it doesn’t matter now.

Or maybe for a hundred other reasons.

But I will always remember that exchange between my sister and her first husband that had occurred years earlier.

I think it’s one of those moments where you should remember. It should be memorable and sweet and meaningful.

Because it’s a milestone of sorts in a new relationship.

It’s like the official beginning of a new relationship.

 

That’s it. That’s all I have.

Just a sweet memory about my sister that I wanted to share. -MMP

1aBeatles

I Stopped Caring

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A funny thing happens when someone you just met finds your blog.

Panic.

Last night I re-read my posts here and many of them were very difficult for me to read.

I didn’t recognize my own words.

Then I realized I’m not that person anymore.

I’m not gloomy and sad and depressed anymore. Thankfuckinggod.

I’m happier.

Again.

Everything has changed, but for the better.

And I no longer believe that all things happen for a reason.

Because I never deserved to be mistreated that way.

No one has ever lied and deceived me, disrespected and used me before.

You are not a very nice person. But somehow I wanted to see and find the good in you.

And now I know, the only good thing about you – was me.

But you no longer have me.

And do not think for one second, dear, that the universe will allow you to get away with all you have done.

Karma has a way of repaying those who have done harm and you will pay for the damage you have caused me and to others.

I forgive you.  Because I know how miserable and unhappy you are.

And I don’t need to know how horribly your life ends up. Because I simply do not fucking care anymore.

Forgiving you was the first part. And now I’m forgetting you. Forfuckingever.

You were never worth my time, my adoration or my tears.

And I don’t hate you. I feel nothing for you. You no longer exist in my world.

And I don’t know what I’ll be doing next year, or where I’ll be, or who I’ll be with.

But I know I’ll be even happier than I am today.

Because the farther away you are in my past, the happier I become.

 

 

A funny thing happens when you stop caring.

You are finally able to breathe again. And to smile.

And move on.

And I am happy again.

And it’s the most freeing feeling in the world.

“I forgive people by forgetting about them.”

☠Chaotic Disaster☠ @That_Damn_Duck

“I woke up and I forgave you.  Now my real journey begins.”

8dBean @IMBeanz

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The Kiss

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About a month ago she met me at work. She waited so that we could go to dinner afterwards.

We didn’t do anything fancy. Just a simple evening with great conversation.

That was my favorite thing about her. I could talk with her for hours on end and never tire of her voice.

After dinner, we went back to my office to pick up her car. We took my normal route home from work.

About half way to my office, we came to an intersection at Snowy Hollow Road and Route 169. I stopped at the sign and jumped out of my car. I ran back to her car. She looked very concerned and asked me, “What’s wrong?”

I replied “Absolutely nothing. Everything is perfect.” Then I kissed her.

I kissed her like it was the last thing I would ever do.

She looked surprised. Floored is a better description.

Later that evening, she told me that was the sweetest, most romantic thing any man had ever done for her.

She told me how much she loved me and asked me to make love to her.

How do you go from that moment- one month ago-  to this, being apart, without any explanation?

I would do anything to see that look in her eyes again.

To see how much she loved me. I would die for that feeling again.

Just one more time.

– Anon.

* * *

How do you go from feeling like this person is your entire world, to….. nothing?

[This was written by a friend. I will add his name, only with his permission.]

Serendipity, Happenstance and Love

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I discovered a new blog today called One Thousand Single Days. A young woman, now divorced with two young sons, who has committed to spending the next 1,000 days to being single.

An excerpt from her blog: 

“One thousand days of being single… No men, no dating, no flirting, no kisses, no romantic love, no valentines day, nothing.

I intend to use this time to address some of the issues I have… I am very stubborn… I have shockingly low self esteem, I get jealous, I can get really angry….
I want to learn to be whole.”

Her words touched me. How well I could relate.

http://onethousandsingledays.com/what-does-one-thousand-days-even-mean-2/

My blog is not nearly as well-laid out as hers is. And I barely have any followers. But those things do not matter to me.

My main focus is picking up the pieces of my broken life. And not just simply putting them back together again.

But creating a new picture.

I do not want to go back to the insecure little girl who grew up feeling ugly and different and misunderstood.

I want to create something new. A new life that fits the new me: the me who is alone again, who lost her job. The me who thought she’d found the love of her life, who has now since disappeared.

The me who has two beautiful, sweet little girls who make me realize that each day is a gift, and should never be taken for granted.

I do not have the luxury of being a 27 year old woman who can devote 1,000 days to being single.

Instead I want time and chance, or serendipity, to choose my fate for me.

Serendipity: A “happy accident” or “pleasant surprise”; specifically, the accident of finding something good or useful while not specifically searching for it.

There are no guarantees of tomorrow. Even those who have found love today, are not promised a forever.

The only thing we have control of, is how we view each opportunity presented to us. The man who says he will end up alone, is right. He will end up alone.

The woman who says she will find love again, is right. She will find love again.

The person who sees beauty in the ordinary, will also see the possibility of the future.

Things happen for a reason. That is something I will always believe.

Each experience leads us to a better understanding of ourselves, and presents a new opportunity for tomorrow.

You can’t fast forward to the next chapter of your life without first experiencing the now.

Puzzles are intricate and challenging. But piece by piece a beautiful picture begins to unfold.

It’s impossible to make some pieces fit. So toss them aside and make room for those that will. Something better.

Believe that all things- good and bad- happen for a reason.

* * *

A scene from Serendipity: a man and woman meet. Strangers, both engaged to marry others, who are immediately attracted to one another.

The woman, Sara, decides that if they were meant to be, destiny will bring them together again. Ether now or in the future. They know only a few pieces of information about each other, not including the other’s last name.

They scrawl their full names and telephone numbers on a $5 bill and a used book. Sara believes that if they are destined to be together, one of them will find either the book or five dollar bill by happenstance. But only IF they are meant to be together.  Without any contact information, they part ways.

Sara: You don’t have to understand. You just have to have faith.
Jonathan: Faith in what?
Sara: Destiny.

* * *

Last spring, my boyfriend planned a trip for us to Colorado. He put it on his credit card. A week later, I went to the bank and withdrew five one hundred dollar bills.

I was happy in love. I recall the five crisp $100 bills. As I sat at my desk one afternoon, I took a black Sharpie and in perfect handwriting I wrote “You” on one, “are” on another, “so” on the third, and finally “SEXY” on the fourth. On the fifth, I wrote his name, “Adam.” I embellished each one with red hearts. Silly, but sweet.

The next day, I gave him the five bills. He smiled and kissed me.

Right before our trip, I discovered that he was still on a dating website. I was devastated.

I told him I could no longer go on the trip with him and one morning before work, I stopped by his house. Without a word, he handed the five $100 bills back to me.

I was upset. Distressed. Beyond hurt.

Later that week, my daughters and I stopped at a Burger King drive-thru.

I reached into my purse and pulled out the folded $100 bills. I hesitated for a moment. Then without a second thought, I handed the teenage boy at the window the one marked “sexy.” It was emblazoned with big red hearts. My daughters, who rarely miss a trick, noticed it and started questioning me.

A minute later, the boy handed me back my change. We drove home.

One by one, I spent all of the $100 bills, saving the one marked “Adam” for last.

As I type, those five $100 bills are all floating around now.

* * *

I’m going to the bank. Maybe today.

I’m going to withdraw $100. Maybe three $20 bills, some tens and fives. Who knows? On a select few, I am going to write…. something. I’m not sure what yet.

Maybe some statement or word that perhaps trigger a memory that only he would know the meaning of.

Then I am going to spend them. All of them.

Not right away, but over the next few weeks or so. At the grocery store. At the mall… I’m not going to plan where. Just where ever.

Will he ever come across one of them again?

When he stops at Best Buy to pick up a new cell phone charger, will the clerk hand him one?

One night when he’s hungry and decides to stop at Taco Bell after work, will he receive one back in his change?

Or maybe some night, when he takes a new girl out on a date, he’ll pay for their drinks.  He’ll order a gin and tonic. Or maybe a beer.

No, he’ll definitely want to impress her, so he will order the gin. Or perhaps Scotch on the rocks.

The bartender will hand him his change back. He’ll mindlessly shove the bills into his pocket and go back to his date.

She is pretty. She has a nice smile. At that moment, she is all he will see.

The next day he’ll go about his day. Laundry day will come. Or maybe he’ll decide to wear those same jeans again.

He’ll pull them on. Later, he’ll reach into his pocket. And then. He will see it. On a five dollar bill. Or maybe on a ten.

My handwriting. My words. He’ll see me.

And he will……?

What? I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Or maybe… something.

Corny, I know. But more like close to impossible.

Or maybe not so impossible.

Whatever happens after that…. I choose to let fate decide.

Serendipity or not.

When Love Is (Or Isn’t) Enough

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Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.  The story of a couple who meet, fall in love and break up.

Their break up is so painful they both decide to undergo a procedure that erases all memory of their relationship.

After their memories are erased they become strangers and go their separate ways.

But they meet a second time and are instantly attracted to each other, as if meeting for the first time.

The movie ends there, suggesting they fall in love all over again, despite their past.

The whole thing- falling in love, meeting a second time and being given a second chance- is appealing on many levels.

Most people have one person they wish they could have a second chance with.

A past relationship that was electric and exciting and passionate that you wish you could do it all over again. Even if there was some bad mixed in with all the good.

No relationship is ever perfect and every couple encounters problems and misunderstandings. People change, circumstances change and feelings can change, too.

And a history that took months and years to build up, can all fall apart as easily as a sand castle being washed away by the tide.

You might try and save it.  You grab your bucket and add more sand.

And things are good again. Maybe not as perfect as before but there’s still a lot of good left so you both hold on.

But the issues and the tide will reappear again. And unless both people are trying to fix it, you realize you can’t do it alone.

The whole situation can seem impossible and overwhelming. And sometimes it’s easier to walk away when you feel hurt, even if you love someone.

But after some time has passed, you start to miss the other person and maybe even wish you had a second chance.

≡

But what if all your bad memories-  every fight, every lie, every hurtful word ever spoken – were all erased.

What if you met again as strangers without a past.

Maybe this time you would both be different.

Maybe if enough time had passed and if your experiences had changed, maybe you’d both be better.

Maybe. Or maybe erasing the past wouldn’t make any difference at all.

Don’t mistakes teach us what not to do next time and how to be better?

How would we know what to do differently if there were no past to learn from?

Maybe a second chance with someone wouldn’t be wonderful at all.

To go through the hurt and pain of breaking up all over again? No one would ever choose that.

And what if the other person walked away without a fight. Or they treated you badly the first time?

If they really loved you, wouldn’t they have tried harder and treated you better? Would it be any different the second time?

It takes mutual love and respect and the effort from two people, to build the relationship and to protect the sand castle.

≡

These are all just words and words don’t really mean anything unless the person who they are meant for actually reads them.

And even if they read them, there are no magic words that can change the past and make things work. Not even “I love you,” not even “I’m sorry,” and not even “I really wish we could start over again.”

Love isn’t always enough and some things were just not meant to be.

What does matter is finding someone who won’t give up on you. Even after you’ve messed up.

Someone who is as passionate about you as you are about them.

Otherwise, all you end up with is a pile of useless fucking sand.

“If you love something, let it go.

If you don’t love something, definitely let it go. Basically, just drop everything, who cares.” – B.J. Novak

 

I Love You, by Banksy, canvas print.

I Love You, by Banksy, canvas print.

 

   http://www.imdb.com/media/rm2954530560/tt0338013

The Funeral

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I did not write this.

A friend sent this to me recently. It touched me and I wanted to share.

Enjoy….

Consumed by my loss, I didn’t notice the hardness of the pew where I sat. I was at the funeral of my dearest friend – my mother. She finally had lost her long battle with cancer. The hurt was so intense; I found it hard to breathe at times. Always supportive, Mother clapped loudest at my school plays, held a box of tissues while listening to my first heartbreak, comforted me at my father’s death, encouraged me in college, and prayed for me my entire life. When mother’s illness was diagnosed, my sister had a new baby and my brother had recently married his childhood sweetheart, so it fell on me, the 27-year-old middle female child without entanglements, to take care of her. I counted it an honor.

‘What now, Lord?’ I asked sitting in church. My life stretched out before me as an empty abyss. My brother sat stoically with his face toward the cross while clutching his wife’s hand. My sister sat slumped against her husband’s shoulder, his arms around her as she cradled their child. All so deeply grieving, no one noticed I sat alone. My place had been with our mother, preparing her meals, helping her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing to her medication, reading the Bible together. Now she was with the Lord. My work was finished, and I was alone. I heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the church. Quick footsteps hurried along the carpeted floor.

An exasperated young man looked around briefly and then sat next to me. He folded his hands and placed them on his lap. His eyes were brimming with tears. He began to sniffle. ‘I’m late,’ he explained, though no explanation was necessary. After several eulogies, he leaned over and commented, ‘Why do they keep calling Mary by the name of ‘Margaret?” ‘Because, that was her name, Margaret. Never Mary, no one called her ‘Mary,” I whispered. I wondered why this person couldn’t have sat on the other side of the church. He interrupted my grieving with his tears and fidgeting. Who was this stranger anyway?

‘No, that isn’t correct,’ he insisted, as several people glanced over at us whispering, ‘her name is Mary, Mary Peters.’ ‘That isn’t who this is.’ ‘Isn’t this the Lutheran church?’ ‘No, the Lutheran church is across the street.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘I believe you’re at the wrong funeral, Sir.’ The solemnness of the occasion mixed with the realization of the man’s mistake bubbled up inside me and came out as laughter. I cupped my hands over my face, hoping it would be interpreted as sobs. The creaking pew gave me away. Sharp looks from other mourners only made the situation seem more hilarious. I peeked at the bewildered, misguided man seated beside me. He was laughing too, as he glanced around, deciding it was too late for an uneventful exit. I imagined Mother laughing. At the final ‘Amen,’ we darted out a door and into the parking lot. ‘I do believe we’ll be the talk of the town,’ he smiled. He said his name was Rick and since he had missed his aunt’s funeral, asked me out for lunch.

That afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with this man who attended the wrong funeral, but was in the right place. A year after our meeting, we were married at a country church where he was the assistant pastor. This time we both arrived at the same church, right on time.

In my time of sorrow, I found laughter and love. This past June, we celebrated our twenty-second wedding anniversary. Whenever anyone asks us how we met, Rick tells them, ‘Her mother and my Aunt Mary introduced us, and it’s truly a match made in heaven.’

Remember, God doesn’t make mistakes. He puts us where we are supposed to be.

The Player

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“I was a drunken whore master.”

These were Todd’s exact words to me, describing himself. [This is a post about him, a guy I’ve known for years, who repeatedly tried to sleep with me and repeatedly failed.]

I was impressed with his honesty. It also made me laugh. It was funny.

And also sad.

But there are thousands of Todd’s. They are everywhere.

Guys who would fuck any girl who is willing to put out.

And according to Todd, most girls are easy prey. All he’d have to do was buy them a few drinks and tell them they were pretty.

Two shots later and BOOM. She’s naked in your bed.

“So easy”, he’d say.

But empty. Sad. Pathetic.

Todd slept with 2, 3, sometimes even 4 girls, in a single week. Leaving a trail of broken hearts and some very confused and upset women, along the way.

He didn’t care. He didn’t want any girl. He just wanted to get laid. He talked about it as casually as discussing the weather.

Then one day, after a bad day at work, he stopped at a bar. He’d stopped there a 100 times before. He had seen her there a few times.

Sometimes they’d even make small talk. That particular night, the bar was empty. He moved a seat closer.

He bought her a drink.

She smiled and thanked him. One hour turned into two… Two drinks turned into… many.

He couldn’t remember the details. “All I remember is her….”

That night, Todd took her back to his apartment. On the way, he stopped at a liquor store. He ran inside and minutes later, returned with an expensive bottle of red wine.

“I don’t care for red,” she said.

“Should I run in and get you a bottle of white?” he asked.

He aimed to please. She politely declined. They left.

Todd had all the things you would imagine a Player to have: a brand new loaded BMW, a great apartment, an amazing job. And he was very attractive.

Short, dark hair. Perfectly dressed. Expensive jeans. A sexy, striped button down shirt. His eyes were dark. Smoldering.

He stared at her. She knew exactly what he was thinking. 

He popped open the bottle of wine.

She was nervous. She guzzled it to calm her nerves.

They made small talk. He moved closer. She darted away. She needed more wine.

She looked in his refrigerator. It was overflowing with beer and little else.

More wine. Flirting. Kissing…

Two hours later, they were naked in his bed. A huge beautiful, antique-looking wooden mirror leaned up against his wall. An odd piece for a Player to have. It showed he had dimension. Some class. An appreciation for beautiful pieces of old furniture.

She liked it.

She grabbed her black dress and heels, got dressed and left. She needed to go home.

He stood in the doorway, barely clothed and watched her walk to her car. He missed her before she had even left.

Todd stopped seeing other women. All he could think about was her.

She wasn’t the most beautiful girl. But she was quite striking. Soft blonde hair that grazed her shoulders. Pretty green eyes.

Her body bore the faint scars of having children. It was not perfect. He didn’t care.

He thought she was beautiful.

And she was smart, funny, cute.

Irresistible.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He wanted to see her again. He needed to see her again.

Soon.

He couldn’t wait. He texted her and emailed her. Sent an extravagant bouquet of calla lilies and white roses to her at work.

What the fuck had happened to him?

He didn’t even recognize himself.

Soon they were seeing each other frequently. The sex was amazing. Electric.

But it was more than that.

He was falling in love with her. And she felt the same.

Todd had never been the romantic type. But one night he told her: “I care for you so much, it scares me. I want you to know how much I love you.”

She was touched. “You are amazing, Todd.”

He replied, “No I am NOT amazing. When I look at you, all these words just come pouring out of me. I’m not amazing. I’m just being genuine. This is what you do to me. This is how you make me feel.”

If they are lucky, even the most promiscuous man (or woman), will meet a person who will change them.

Turn their world upside-fucking-down.

The trick is finding a person who will reciprocate that all-consuming love.

A person who earns it. Respects and protects it.

Makes you feel like anything is possible.

If you find that… hold onto it.

Never let it go.

[Update: A few months later, this girl dumped Todd and completely broke his heart. Perhaps proving that karma does in fact exist. I don’t know. It’s not for me to say.]

The Taste Of You #MMCM Mirtha Michelle: Mirtha Michel, Michel Castro, Letters

The Taste Of You #MMCM Mirtha Michelle: Mirtha Michel, Michel Castro, Letters

 

 

The One and Only…

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The night before my girls headed to the beach with their Dad, my 8yo got into trouble.

We were discussing my exBF and she used a series of very descriptive curse words to describe him. I will not say exactly what.

But imagine the worst.

I was not happy.

Her punishment was to copy an excerpt from the James Mollison’s book, “Where Children Sleep.”

For those who are unfamiliar with this book, it is worth Googling. [See link, below.]

She was not happy with this punishment, but she went off to write anyway.

Before I went to bed, I found this card [photo’s below] neatly folded on my pillow, written in her hand.

These are her exact words, verbatim. Keep in mind she is only eight years old.

The cover: “To: The One and Only Mommy.”

Inside:

Dear Mommy,

I am so sorry for saying that word….  I understand that D. is a good person and that I got a little worked up. He hurt you and that is why I get mad. I know that sometimes I can say things that are not good and that’s what makes me mad, too. I can get mad over the littlest things sometimes. I am probably the luckiest girl to have so many chances in my life. Maybe it’s because I’m spoiled. But if it is than you know what? I am sorry for being that way. It can also be because I have the best Mommy in the world. 

But whatever the reason, or explanation, I am sorry and I want one more chance. It now might be my 1 millionth chance, but I am so sorry. I promise that I will keep my feelings to myself.

Please, one more chance. I will love it.

Love,

M.

It’s hard to believe she is only eight years old. And I’ll make sure she never keeps her feelings to herself ever again.

Xoxo

Here is the link to Mr. Mollison’s book:   http://www.jamesmollison.com/wherechildrensleep.php

  

and…