I want someone…

who makes me feel as comfortable and at peace as that day when I was nine, lying on the warm driveway, in Hawaii, as it rained. The drops were warm. The ground was warm. I wished I would have been able to stay there forever. That moment in time. In a beautiful place, as a child with no responsibilities, clueless of the turmoil and excitement and ups and downs of adult relationships.

When you are a child, you see things. New things. Possibilities. You aren’t good at anything, and it doesn’t matter. No one is keeping track. No one is judging a toddler who takes the first steps into the new world. It’s okay to mess up. It’s expected.

You have time. You are given that time, space, and grace to be a beginner.

Somehow though, as you get older you are naturally supposed to know how to do everything. I am not talking about fixing toilets or knitting a sock.

I am talking about relational. We are supposed to know how to play by the rules in dating. Supposed to know what the rules are. No messing up. You have to edit yourself. Not share too much.

A friend sat with me one telling day and said “Not everyone deserves your truth.” It hit me like a ton of bricks. Original quote goes to Chelsea Handler. But my friend said it in context that completely knocked me off my rails. But yet, I have continued to offer up bits of myself that others flat out don’t deserve.

Another mistake.

Another chip out of your self esteem.

Too much.

You wear your heart on your sleeve.

Like it’s a bad thing. To be giving, and loving and caring. To be thoughtful of another person.

Tonight as I sat by the water I saw them. Couples. People who were really into each other. Pairs. They held hands and nuzzled each other’s necks.

And I have been there. In a pair. I have had texts fill my phone. Handwritten notes to awake to, in the morning and a hug when I really needed it.

It’s when all these things are gone that the real issues come up.

You are stuck with yourself.

And who are you?

Well you can’t be the one who wears your heart on your sleeve and you can’t be the one with any expectations of anything. You can’t be the one who is wanting more. And you certainly can’t have an opinion, let alone voice it.

To edit down who I am, is to relive my last relationship all over again. Over and over forever.

Losing my voice, the glint in my eyes when I feel something. My want to touch. Is that better?

To dull down to get further, to go the distance, might just not be worth it.

It is in the caverns of my brain, (anxiety riddled sometimes, and over-thinker most of the time, that I am,) that my greatest creativity lives. It’s why I see hearts because I look. Look past the immediate, into what could be. It’s why I tell stories.

Why do lessons have to hurt so much? Why do they keep coming at me? To settle my mind is to kill off the thing that makes me who I am. The feeler, the one who pays attention.

The one who remembers the way it felt that one day, almost forty years ago. Lying on the driveway in the pouring rain in Hawaii where the ground and the drops felt the same temperature.

So if I want someone who feels as comfortable and at peace as I felt that day, perhaps it is time to look inside. Forgive myself for my mistakes. Tell myself I will do better next time. But still pay attention. Feel the raindrops and the warmth and give myself a hug.

~hazel

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Learning to not care

IMG_1164I had an instance at work where I believed I had found a problem and was trying to fix it and was told that it wasn’t part of my scope. I shouldn’t be spending my time that way. To not care.

And then there are relationships, the being vulnerable and putting yourself out there and the rejection. Another reason to give up and not care.

I imagine not giving a shit actually saves you time, brainpower and a lot of hurt.

I just don’t know how to do it.

If I became numb to the quest of finding an answer. Let go of the idea of having a mind boggling connection with someone. Where would I be?

It would mean I would stop giving. I would stop thinking of others, I would just stop being me.

And I don’t want to be like that. I like living in a world of possibilities. Wanting to have those intense moments that you can only have when you are open and free to experience what comes.

Being vulnerable is a scary spot. You tell people your feelings and they either have some in return or they don’t and that can hurt. It all can hurt. You can tell someone you aren’t doing well and could use a hug, or you just need a note saying that they were thinking of you. But then you are weak. Needy. Wanting. A pain.

I went to a party but I was still in my head. I sat there and watched the people talk and relate to each other. I watched the boats out over the water and remembered.

There was a time when I was a child, in this very spot. A friend and I were being young and silly. A hammock that held us while we talked and dreamed of what our lives might be someday. When we were young, trusting and probably stupid.

Stupid to believe that there was still magic in the world. That you could tell what a person was thinking just by looking in their eyes, or you could believe them because they said so.

Why does it change?

Cynicism, comes from these moments where people are hurt. They sit back and they hide their hearts, and they say it doesn’t matter. It never mattered and they don’t care.

It’s a lie. At least for me. I care. Maybe too much.

Maybe it’s because I am a dreamer. I look in nature and see hearts. I fancy the most beautiful relationship, and a day when my book will be out there for the world to see and to read. The very concept of it being one with all of those around us. That we all have the same capacity, yet some embrace it and some hide it away.

I dream of a beautiful haven to live in with my love and our many adventures together. And my chest hurts.

And I start to think like others do. Maybe if I didn’t care so much, these things wouldn’t bother me.  That I can be like the masses, and turn away from the injustices and the victims and not look at their faces. Hear their cries. Feel with them.

I feel.

I want to feel.

I don’t want to walk the earth not giving a shit, about anything or anyone. Not caring when I am hurt by someone. Letting it harden my heart and pull me away from love itself.

Someday, someone will see my heart. I will hand it to them, as a gift. They will appreciate the love that comes from it. What I have to offer.

And that person will take very good care of it.

I know.

~hazel.

in tears.

Bad on the phone

yodaThis world is different. It’s shorter, it’s brief.

Technology has made it so we can have anything quickly. We are so busy we take full advantage of the instant communication we can have with our phone. We get messages and make plans, start relationships, etc over text. It’s easy.

Sometimes you meet people, and they are rare; that don’t buy in. They don’t text non-stop during the day. They have a thought,  that they just let fall away rather than blasting it across the inter-web. They don’t comply with the idea that if you are thinking about someone, you have to tell them. In little words, on a little screen. It can wait. They feel no need to send “good morning” messages, with a follow up “how was your day?” There is no “goodnight, sweet dreams” salutation. That maybe some are used to.

When you have one person who is used to communicating in sound bites, and they meet and start with a new person, that is not used to sound bites, what are the challenges?

Soundbite is used to reacting to many small bits of information, and responds quickly to the impetus. Enough words to convey the information, yet not sculpt it in a elegant way.

Non-soundbite’s takes their time. Not bound to their electronic device, they form thoughts that come and go, sifting through, so the important stuff sticks and can be expressed later.

Recently, I had someone I was talking to, who was a Non-soundbite. He liked or at least preferred talking on the phone, to texting.

For me personally, I am terrible on the phone. Have been for years. Other’s have commented. Sometimes there is a lag and I am not sure when the other person will speak, so I find myself interrupting or speaking out of turn. I will burst out with random things that make no sense to someone who does not have immediate access to my brain. I am a world class, colossal failure at leaving voicemail messages. Always have been.

I have gotten lazy. I don’t know how to talk to other people. I am bad on the fly, talking on the phone and man, if an issue comes up, I become a disaster. Can’t think properly, don’t know what to say, and a tornado comes out of my mouth. Then I almost immediately forget what I just said and have no way to retrieve it.

In my teens, when I’d talk to a guy, I could marathon chat, and it was easy.

I am way out of practice at this. Fail.

In life, I try to be accountable. I appreciate feedback and am always trying to be a better person than I was yesterday. Always working on stuff. Not only at work but in my personal life. Especially, my personal life.

I try hard with my daughters, to listen. Really hear what’s going on with them. I have had them with me from the beginning. They know how I talk, what I am trying to say and understand the tone of my voice and get my jokes. Our Seinfeld based common sense of humor, is one we all rely on for a quick jib or to sum up a situation. Sarcasm abounds.

Sponge-worthy.

My girls are busy, and I am busy. So, often I will send a funny Gif that they can see and relate to, as a way to connect without forcing my way into their day or interrupting whatever is going on. Long ago, I decided I was not going to be one of those guilt trip moms. You give them space and they come back.

But what to do now, as I’ve wrecked a possibility? One I was excited about?

Do they give talking on the phone lessons?

Is there any hope for those of us who have fallen into the black hole of technology?

Writing is so much better, because you can backspace over your mistakes and rewrite. You can think about what you want to say, sculpt it to sound exactly how you want it to. Use words you feel would fit whatever that situation is. Look them up to check your perceived definition or meaning. Make sure it’s relevant.

On the phone, you can’t see the person’s face. You can’t see their expression, their eyes. You can’t feel.  I hate it. And today, I hate my phone. I hate texting. I hate everything but face to face.

Time to take a deep dive into how I want to communicate with the people I care about. Grow out of this global obsession. Be intentional. Be thoughtful.

Try.

No.

Do.

~World class colossal dorky voicemail of mine that comes to mind.

Years ago, I needed to leave a message with a contractor about the Frankenburn project.

“Hi Mike, I wanted to see if I could talk to you about the Frankenberry project. We are going to need to order more tile for them.” Proceeded with about thirty seconds of uncontrollable laughter, some snorting, and apologies.

He called back and we laughed. And then took care of the Frankenberry’s. 

Hoping it gets better now.

When you know better, you do better.

So it goes…

❤ hazel

Living with absolute thinking

DSCN2961I recently had someone say this to me. “I’m not _______________.”

It doesn’t really matter what word was in the blank, only the power and intention with which it was said.

The problem with making these absolute statements, is that it doesn’t leave room for any movement off that place. It the only way you will be, live or whatever.

I think of these statements, in a physical sense, as if you are putting a nail in the ground through your foot. You lose your total freedom of movement, and can now only rotate around that stance.

There are many ways to be, live, think, work etc. Limiting yourself to ___________ means having to make allowances, or giving up other things to stay there. Sometimes important things. Mind boggling possibilities.

It is one thing to have a preference. I would like to ________________. My wish would be to_________________.

But to say with absolute thinking and conviction that you will never move off of X, keeps you stuck. It’s isolating.

In relationships; one must be accommodating to their other person. In order to have true teamwork, an equal partnership; both parties must be movable. To think together for the greater good. To make space for the thinking and feelings of another.  To actually make space.

I am glad I am not attached to place. To one certain thing, or way of thinking. I have the freedom to go where I think I need to be, at any given time. And I am open to everything.

Things will come. I will feel the wind as it blows me where I need to go next. I am pliable and ready for anything.

❤   hazel

from devastation; rebirth

IMG_0491I sit near my window with the sounds of the dryer going on in the background. I am looking forward to an adventure tomorrow.

My friend Lisa and I will hike at Mt. St. Helen’s. It has been forty years since it exploded and thrust ashes all over the Pacific NW. When I was a kid, we had to wear masks for days, as the ashes fell quietly around us. The sky was dark. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The top blew off. Some people died and the area was devastated by the blast, the lava flows and by the circumstance.

I remember being given an incredible opportunity to fly over the crater as a child. It was calm, but nonetheless a total wreckage below. Trees were violently fallen, the whole area other than the light showing from the lava, was brown gray.

Animals had perished. Devastation.

And with time, and the seasons there are new flowers, trees and activity in the area. Elk visit and are seen through binoculars. They have found their place where there was no life for so long.

It’s like everything. Life is messy sometimes. The explosions, the different circumstances that can come,  and devastate.

Then there is the re-birth.

I feel that this trip will be a big moment for me. I am currently in devastation mode, but working my way out.  I will see firsthand the possibilities, the goodness that comes from time, and the miraculous process of regeneration.

It is a good reminder that now is not forever. That circumstances change and if a person has an open heart and believes in possibilities; magic can still come at any age.

Magic is happening on the mountain. It lives. Where there was incredibly catastrophic events, something new has come. It continues to grow. It is beautiful, and I am grateful to get to see it tomorrow.

To walk where the animals have. To see nature take back what was hers. To see what Mother nature has given birth to. To listen to the sounds of what is, and what will be.

With my memories from long ago, and with new memories  that I am building I will sit in awe and be grateful. I believe I will get through this. I will grow anew.

It is the way of things. All things.

❤ hazel

“Always working on something”

IMG_0858I spoke to a friend on the phone that I hadn’t talked to in many years. We were childhood friends and always wished each other well, but never really stayed in touch.

When we were talking, he said that from the look of my Facebook posts, I was searching for something. A job, a different type of life. Something.

“It seems like you are always working on something.”

These words hung in the air while I sat in my favorite spot. I had said almost those same words to my mother, many years ago.

I asked her. “Why can’t you just be,; why are you always reading a book, thinking about yourself or on a journey within?”

And I said it with some disdain about it. Like it was a bother to always be fielding some comment about how I should read this book or that book. That I should be taking this course or working on my stuff. I found the idea exhausting.

I am doing the same thing. Is it any wonder I am always on a quest for more, to understand things differently or seeking out that elusive key to life itself?

There is an undercurrent of this very thing restless in today’s society. I am in good company.

We are tired, we are separate, we are searching.  The day to day is not enough. Why are we so unsatisfied with the day? The life?

I guess some are, they don’t sweat stuff. Everything is “fine”.

I have a brain that loves to be teased. I want to figure stuff out. From ways to fix things that nag at me, to solving a problem at work. I want to help others figure out their stuff. I want to help them with their dreams. I listen. I figure. I dream.

What honestly would I do with my brain if I didn’t?

I sit in my room with my Spotify list playing Wings’ “Man on the run” and watching the fake fireplace DVD on my TV, over this screen.

I have the time and space to think. I have the time to read other’s points of view. I am in a place, where I can take this time. It doesn’t hurt anyone; my thinking about  my life.  Well, maybe some, but that was inevitable.

I will take this time to think. To search. To celebrate me, and my questions and thoughts.

Oh boy, I do not have everything figured out. I don’t know anyone who does.

Rather than making it wrong, I will just decide that this is the way my brain works and I will share. Maybe someone will need to hear just what I now needed to say.

It’s just part of me.

With love.

Hazel.

A heart- The symbol of love.

drywall heart

The heart. Symbol of love itself.

Think of the classic heart.

Two perfect lobes coming together at the bottom form a seamless union. It is the thing we all search for. Two coming together.

When one of the lobes is larger than the other, the effort is uneven. One is working harder, one laying back. This happens so often.

People stay together because you do. It’s hard to break the heart.

When one is holding more than their fair share of the love together, they get tired. They wonder. They resent.

One lobe gets smaller and smaller, and the other fights by giving more. Trying to hold the shape.

But it is unsustainable.

Destined to break.

The words are appropriate. A broken heart. Two becoming one. Someone did it right. As an idea, it is awesome.

We search for the perfect other half. And for some it doesn’t come. And for some, many come, but still fail to fill the most important role.

So we search for our missing half. The one that completes us. As much as it is a mission to be complete, the shape of the heart.

Love itself, needs another.

Two.

Becoming One.

Hazel out. ❤

*For so long, I have seen hearts. They come to me. Right now I am in a heart drought. And so it goes. But I will keep searching…