Intention

I'm all about intentions at this point in my life. I have a lot of them.

The thing about intentions is that you can't let them swirl about. A good intention should have a place, a home, some careful consideration. Maybe some nurturing, too.

Lately, I'm finding that I'm looking at my intentions ever so carefully. And when I put them "out there" - as it's so popular to say - I'm scrutinizing what comes back to me.

It's been a little weird. I can't possibly ignore this: I'm bombarded in one area.

There's a trip to New York - all expenses paid - in an amazing, 3 bedroom TriBeca loft.

There's an adorable guy in Southern California. All I know is that his name is Ray and he's probably going to be my Facebook friend soon. No, he's not an online hook-up.

There's a Midwest rendezvous with someone I hardly know, but he's someone I'd very much like to know better.

Curious?

ME TOO.

I spent the day mulling over these possibilities in my head. And meanwhile:

Text notification beeped: "Please come to NY! I'll pay for you to fly home early. Please just say you'll come!"

My client arrived: "Look at these pictures! He's the nicest guy ever! And he wants to meet you."

I sent an email: "Rendezvous? Really? Is this a good idea?"

So while the details of all the above take flight in their ever-constant dance of "yes, no, maybe, i-don't-know," I've found it best to leave that situation alone (and it is only a situation right now; absolutely no intent has been formed) and move on to something I can really wrap my heart around.

Work.
Passion.
Writing.

It's been on my brain for way too long. This writing life that I have is superb, but it needs to be more. There's a voice, there's a beckoning: "Janeen, wake up and write." And I can't ignore it any longer.

So I chased down the intention this week. I grabbed it by its unruly neck and I pulled it in. I held it close and I asked it for clarity. I asked it for feedback. I asked if for manifestation.

And it appeared.

Freelance.

I put out some calls, sent off an email. Asked God, the Universe, the Intention Master to speak. Guide me. Direct me. Show me.

Tonight, in my Inbox, there it was. A reply email from the owner of a freelance journalism firm.

He asked: "Fitness, travel, food, wellness?"

YES, YES, YES, and YES!

He went on: "Long features or short?"

YES and YES, PLEASE!

We are going to talk next week.

I'm learning how to play the game of Intentions. I'm learning more every day. I'm starting to think that I might even play so well that I may begin to win. Somehow, keeping that mindset helps me to believe that as exciting as NYC might be, as nice as a new Facebook friend could be, or as amazing as a Midwest meet-up would be, none may even occur.

It's all about intention, right? And maybe, just maybe, none of those are intended for me.

But the phone interview next week? That's all mine!

Really?

I just got home. Saturday night, 11:00om. I need to sleep. My thyroid meds have me all hopped up, at all the wrong hours. But I'm not at peace; not even in the least bit and the unsettled emotions that are with me now are huge; bigger than normal, larger than life.

Against my better judgment, I went to my client's "Divorce Party" tonight. After several hours of revelry, I slipped out at 10:15pm and cried all the way back to my house.

When did I turn the corner and become an adult? A complicated, layered adult with much regard for consequences?

I think it may have happened right in the middle of that tiny, cramped Midtown apartment.

About 25 people gathered tonight to toast and celebrate my client's boyfriend. He is divorced. Officially. Per the State of California, Family Law Court.

Hear, hear. Clink, clink.

I am so happy for you?

I didn't know that such a thing existed: a divorce party. I didn't know that friends would gather and say things like, "I'm gonna get married and divorced just so I can have a party like this!" I didn't know that party go-ers would sneak downstairs and decorate the newly divorcee's car just as they would a newlywed's car. Can you picture it? "Just divorced!"

I didn't go downstairs to see it so I can't write about the details of the car. I was finding my way toward the exit, at that point.

Did I mention that there is a 5-year-old child involved?

Yeah, that brings it a whole lot closer to home. Doesn't it?

Divorce isn't happy; it's tragic. I don't care what the circumstances are, who is at fault. It' devastating. It's not a reason to celebrate.

Children of divorce KNOW that something is different about their situation. They start school. They see nuclear, traditional families. They ask questions. You can't celebrate their uncertainties, their insecurities, their wishes for things to be different.

Friends and family members suffer in divorces. Friendships are severed, family traditions are discarded, in-laws who were once treasured as "real" moms, sisters, brothers, dads are cut out. You can't celebrate the sadness of losing important people.

I could say so much more right now, but I can't.

I can't because I stood in a room full of 30-somethings and I raised a glass of nice champagne after the divorcee made his speech. I forced a wide smile. I clinked the glasses of those around me. I made the appearance that I was happy for my friend, who now joins the horrific divorce statistic.

And then I quietly went to the kitchen, poured my drink out, found my keys, made up excuses, said my goodbyes, walked the long blocks to my car and promptly fell apart.

When the State of California stamped my divorce decree, I cried for days. I cried for Ben, I cried for Kevin, I cried for my parents, I cried for myself.

I still cry.

Before God, I took a vow to love Kevin and to be with him "until death do us part." Kevin couldn't do that part, but I could. I fought for it. I believed in it. I prayed for it.

But it wasn't enough.

Gathering my friends together, pouring champagne and celebrating the demise of my marriage was something I could never fathom.

Ever.

How could I explain such an event to Ben someday? Or to my mother, now?

I will always grieve the loss of my marriage, even if I am lucky enough to be happily married again one day. People were hurt, relationships were destroyed, trust was sabotaged. I don't know how you raise a glass and make those things go away. I don't think those things can ever go away. There is forgiveness, yes. But it is so very hard to forget.

Especially when you have the sweet face of a child looking up at you for answers.

When I came in the door earlier, I put down my keys, stripped off my clothes and went to the shower as quickly as I could. I scrubbed off all the physical remnants of the party: spilled drinks, cigarette smoke, marijuana. And I tried to get the emotional yuck off too: the tasteless comments, the nasty remarks about an ex I never knew, the dismay that anyone could ever be so fucking happy about the demise of a marriage.

For someone who sincerely wants to be married again, I don't think that this was a good place to be on a Saturday night. Or any other night, for that matter.

But I learned so much in such a short time.

I am reminded that marriage is sacred. I am committed to honoring the act of marriage and not ever cheapening it with lewd remarks and inappropriate decisions. I am more of a believer in marriage than I ever was before. I have more faith in good marriages, and more hope for those marriages that need it.

I am in celebration of marriage.

And I am really, really sad for the room of people tonight who just don't get it.

Rollercoaster

I am feeling immensely grateful for better physical health. There, I said it. Now I can write about the state of my heart without feeling like I'm being ungrateful for the great improvements that I've made physically.

This weekend, I "graduated" my son from Kindergarten. I developed a major crush on a guy; let's call it unrequited love for now. I had a fall-out with a female friend. I went to a party at my ex-husband's house and despite his girlfriend being in attendance, was accosted by several friends and ex in-laws who felt the overwhelming need to convince me that we (the ex and I) should get back together. I cut my carb intake to just a couple lettuce leaves, a few tomatoes, some avocado and straight Vodka. I said goodbye to Ben for a week.

Can you say "train wreck?"

I held it back until yesterday - Sunday - afternoon, then the dam of emotions broke and the river of tears hasn't stopped.

It started with Ben's little footsteps on the wood floors on Friday morning. Tears before breakfast. Yay. Graduation itself wasn't so bad, but he was getting sick and Kevin wasn't being attentive and I wanted to just wrap Ben up in all my motherly compassion and take care of him.

But I couldn't because it was Kevin's damn day.

Going out on Friday night seemed to be the perfect solution especially since I haven't been out in so long. But it wasn't because I found a guy, in a bar, or rather, he found me. Actually, we just found each other. I liked him. A lot. I got to know him and then he went home. To fucking Florida. Just my luck.

The girlfriend and I had a difference in opinion over said guy. Why can't female friends just be supportive? Why is male attention a bad thing when you're a single mom? It's not like Ben was sitting on the bar stool next to us. And he bought her drinks. I don't understand.

My ex's party was a mess. From my perspective, at least. Kevin so wanted my mom and me there. We went, even though it was a party with his people: his girlfriend, her friends, my ex in-laws, etc. I got there and my mother-in-law (ex, that is) barrels into me, sloshed, and says, "I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! I MISS YOU SO MUCH! EVERYONE MISSES YOU! DON'T YOU STILL LOVE KEVIN???"

Hello to you too.

Same conversation occurs over and over among friends and family members. "We know he left you, Janeen, but he would do anything to get you back."

At one point, I had to say, "Lower your damn voice. His girlfriend is RIGHT THERE, for God's sake!"

Such a heavy heart that night. As if "getting back together" was so easy. AS. IF.

Then, a text from my bar friend: "Fly out for some Florida fun!"

What is wrong with men today??? Pick up the damn phone and invite me to your state properly. Not that I'd go, mind you, I'm not exactly looking for a Florida "hook-up."

Lastly, the diet. Adjusting to 20 net carbs a day is hard work. There are 20 carbs in an apple. A big apple!

I did my first kytone test this morning and results were right on. Which means my body is where it's supposed to be except that the major dip in serotonin is probably contributing to the waterworks event here.

And finally, because I forgot this little tidbit, I got invited to a Divorce Party. Yes, you read that correctly: A DIVORCE PARTY. So-and-so is splitting from so-and-so and the invitation read: "Let's fucking celebrate!!"

To which I can only say, "What-the-fuck-over?"

The saving grace was a phone call to my sister and the text that she sent after we hung up. I have to write this so that I can come back and read it and read it and read it and read it...

I'm so glad that you called me today and that you share your life with me in vulnerable ways. I will keep your secrets for you. You are dazzlingly beautiful inside and out. You are of infinite worth. I see you as a light that fills every space you are and lingers long after you are gone. I look forward to your visits like you're somebody famous I've won a lunch date with, and I don't want to live in a world without you. I love you, Jan and you'll always be my hero, no matter what.

After a weekend like this, I feel so very compartmentalized and even marginalized as this life that I live dips and soars and crashes and glides. But to have my sister on my side, to know that she holds the big net for when I tumble, to have the assurance that compassion will always win over judgment in her book is so priceless in my world of unknowns.

Thank you, Alisa. I love you too.

And the house is officially out of klee-nex.

Crack

I think I've gone beyond the energy surge to "just straight up mania."

Welcome to life on thyroxine.

One day you're lower than low, the next, you're higher than a kite.

The club manager took me aside yesterday. "Are you ok?" she asked. I guess my barrage of chitchat and shaky hands were a dead giveaway to the fact that I was flying high.

That, and the fact that I can't sleep.

My doctor called late last night (BLESS HER A MILLION TIMES OVER!).

Turns out, I can't back off the medication until my lab work is completed. The doctor doesn't want to give up the progress we've made and said that a therapeutic dose can take awhile for the body to get used to.

Maybe now is a good time to take up marathon training.

The energy is great. But feeling like I'm going to have a heart attack? Not so much.

Nevertheless, I'm glad to be venturing back to my old self. I've definitely had glimpses of that life in the last couple of days and I like it. A lot.

And like every well traveled road, the journey back will inevitably involve a lot of twists, turns and detours. Would I have it any other way? I don't think so.