tiny beautiful things

I finished a book yesterday that is now among my favorites. It's a book written by Cheryl Strayed who wrote an advice column called Dear Sugar. This book, tiny beautiful things: Advice on love and life from Dear Sugar is a compilation of her most popular columns. This isn't a typical advice column. Sugar says things like,

"Inhabit the beauty that lives in your beastly body and strive to see the beauty in all the other beasts."

"Forgiveness doesn't just sit there like a pretty boy in a bar."

"Believe that the fairy tale is true."

"Let yourself be gutted. Let it open you. Start here."

Her column was a hit because she believes in the beautiful, she's radically forthright while being kind, she's a little bit crude and sarcastic while tempering it with humor and lovingly refers to her readers as "honey bun" and "sweat pea". Her words are real and I think we can all relate to much of what she says. The final question in the book was one that was so perfectly answered, I had to share it. Perhaps we can't relate to the specific stories but we can relate to the experiential part because as my old mentor used to tell me, "It's never about the story." The stuff underneath, the heart is what we relate to and so here's a bit of wisdom from Dear Sugar. 

Dear Sugar,

I read your column religiously. I'm twenty-two. From what I can tell by your writing, you're in your early forties. My question is short and sweet: What would you tell your twentysomething self if you could talk to her now?

Love,

Seeking Wisdom

Dear Seeking Wisdom,

Stop worrying about whether you're fat. You're not fat. Or rather, you're sometimes a little bit fat, but who gives a shit? There is nothing more boring and fruitless than a woman lamenting the fact that her stomach is round. Feed yourself. Literally. The sort of people worthy of your love will love you more for this, sweet pea.

     In the middle of the night in the middle of your twenties when your best woman friend crawls naked  into your bed, straddles you, and says, 'You should run away from me before I devour you', believe her.

     You are not a terrible person for wanting to break up with someone you love. You don't need a reason to leave. Wanting to leave is enough. Leaving doesn't mean you're incapable of real love or that you'll never love anyone else again. It doesn't mean you're morally bankrupt or psychologically demented or a nymphomaniac. It means you wish to change the terms of one particular relationship. That's all. Be brave enough to break your own heart.

     When that really sweet but fucked-up gay couple invites you over to their cool apartment to do Ecstasy with them, say no.

     There are some things you can't understand yet. Your life will be a great and continuous unfolding. It's good you've worked hard to resolve childhood issues while in your twenties, but understand that what you resolve will need to be resolved again. And again. You will come to know things that can only be known with the wisdom of age and the grace of years. Most of those things will have to do with forgiveness.

     One evening you will be rolling around on the wooden floor of your apartment with a man who will tell you he doesn't have a condom. You will smile in this spunky way that you think is hot and tell him to fuck you anyway. This will be a mistake for which you alone will pay.

     Don't lament so much about how your career is going to turn out. You don't have a career. You have a life. Do the work. Keep the faith. Be true blue. You are a writer because you write. Keep writing and quit your bitching. Your book has a birthday. You don't know what it is yet.

     You cannot convince people to love you. This is an absolute rule. No one will ever give you love because you want him or her to give it. Real love moves freely in both directions. Don't waste your time on anything else.

     Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small, quiet room.

     One hot afternoon during the era in which you've gotten yourself ridiculously tangled up with heroin, you will be riding the bus and thinking what a worthless piece of crap you are when a little girl will get on the bus holding the strings of two purple balloons. She'll offer you one of the balloons, but you won't take it because you believe you no longer have a right to such tiny beautiful things. You're wrong. You do.

     Your assumptions about the lives of others are in direct relationship to your naive pomposity. Many people you believe to be rich are not rich. Many people you think have it easy worked hard for what they got. Many people who seem to be gliding right along have suffered and are suffering. Many people who appear to you to be old and stupidly saddled down with kids and cars and houses were once every bit as hip and pompous as you.

     When you meet a man in the doorway of a Mexican restaurant who later kisses you while explaining that this kiss doesn't "mean anything" because, much as he likes you, he is not interested in having a relationship with your or anyone right now, just laugh and kiss him back. Your daughter will have his sense of humor. Your son will have his eyes.

     The useless days will add up to something. The shitty waitressing jobs. The hours writing in your journal. The long meandering walks. The hours reading poetry and story collections and novels and dead people's diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. These things are your becoming.

     One Christmas at the very beginning of your twenties when your mother gives you a warm coat that she saved for months to buy, don't look at her skeptically after she tells you she thought the coat was perfect for you. Don't hold it up and say it's longer than you like your coats to be and too puffy and possibly even too warm. Your mother will be dead by spring. That coat will be the last gift she gave you. You will regret the small thing you didn't say for the rest of your life.

     Say thank you.

Yours,

Sugar

Firsts

I’m back from my trip and am experiencing a bit of a lull from the high of it all. Something I think is really fun about my trip is that there were a lot of new experiences for me. Some were things I’ve been wanting to check off my “I’ve done that!” list, some were things I hope I never take for granted, and some were things I hope that maybe one day I will take for granted. Here are these firsts:

1.   Simply taking the trip. I’ve never truly traveled on my own and it’s something I knew I needed. I’m so very grateful to have insisted on this despite a lot of well-intentioned reactions from people who love me. I hope I never take my alone time for granted and don’t know that I ever could. I’m a different person because of this trip and know this trip doesn’t end with stepping off the plane. The ripple effects and realizations from this time are sure to keep coming. 

My first view of the ocean coming into Grand Cayman.

One of the many lovely courtyards where I was staying.

2.     Going scuba diving. This was on my list of things I’ve been wanting to do for quite some time. Despite being a terrible swimmer and having a completely irrational fear of putting my face underwater, I thought I’d get hooked. Not so much. At all. Once in the water for the training portion, I began visibly shaking. I went from feeling very cool and confident to quickly reverting to a very unbrave version of myself. I stayed in the water because I have an intensely stubborn determination to face my fears. In an attempt to feel better, I began quizzing the scuba instructor on how long he’d been taking people diving, how long he himself has been diving, and whether or not he’d ever had any problems with a newbie. He assured me of his experience and asked me to please not be his first trouble student. Poor guy. Once we dove, I kept my hand pressing the breathing device tightly against my face. I was terrified that somehow I’d drop it from my mouth so I kept my teeth clenched so tightly I made my jaw sore.  I also felt the odd need to hang on to my scuba instructor’s hand throughout the dive. I would grab onto it only to have him remove it from my grip and as he’d swim away, I’d grab onto his leg. He’d turn, ask if I was ok, I’d give my ok signal and on it went. I really felt the need for human contact to help me feel more comfortable. Pretty funny. 

I did it!

3.     Horseriding on the beach. Like most little girls, I grew up wanting to ride horses. The desire never went away so my parents relented and in high school I started riding. I’ve always wanted to ride on the beach so in Grand Cayman, I took my own intimate sunset ride with a pair of newlyweds. We even took our horses swimming in the ocean. It was phenomenally beautiful, relaxing, and either number 2 or 3 of my favorite experiences from this trip. I want to do it again. 

4.     Relying solely on my feet, public transportation, and hitchhiking to get around. I would bet good money I’m the first person ever to take a bus to the Ritz Carlton. I walked countless miles and spent a lot of time both marveling and detesting the bus system. I got yelled at on the buses. And hit on. And I nodded my head a lot pretending to understand English with an accent I’d never heard. I sprinted after buses and begged drivers to take me off-route. It was all part of the magic for me. I hope I never take either of these things for granted. I want cars to be a luxury for me even when a part of my daily life. 

From my first bus ride.

5.     Comparing myself to an African lady carrying a jug of water on my head. Do these women have any musculoskeletal imbalances?! Why would I compare myself to an African women carrying a jug of water on my head? In my multiple trips to gas stations to purchase water and lug heavy bags of bottled water home, I was reminded of women carrying water jugs on their head. I love walking because of how connected I feel and carrying water made me feel connected to these women around the world who throughout history have walked miles to bring water home.  It felt really historically beautiful to me. Perhaps one day I’ll visit a country where they carry things on their heads and learn from the best. Bucket list item noted. 

I want to learn from her.

6.     Rode in a submarine.

Yes, I rode in a REAL submarine! I took a night submarine dive and went about 120 feet underwater. We saw a lot of different types of fish, coral, crabs. It was pretty surreal.

The entrance to the sub.

Waiting to go down.

On my way down into the submarine!

Photos didn't take well but I did my best.

Coral

Cool shot of the inside of the sub.

Watching the sub go below water.

There it goes!

And, gone.

7.     Swam with stingrays, fed them, and even kissed them!

So, technically I’ve done this before but I was much younger and don’t remember it. I’m including this in my firsts list because the hour I spent with the stingrays has got to be one of my favorite hours in my life. I adore all animals but there was something really incredible about having these large creatures rub up against you, kiss you, and hug you in their little stingray way. I loved the way they vacuum suck food out of your hand.  Two of the stingrays I held were pregnant and I was able to feel the baby stingrays moving inside of them. It truly was magical. It was also interesting to learn that stingrays don’t sting as absentmindedly as I had previously thought. They only have one stinger and when they sting something, it falls out and takes about a year to grow back.

They were really sweet, affectionate animals and I’d like to go back to Grand Cayman to do that again.

On our way out to Stingray City. My first ride on a sailboat!

Frisbee. Beautiful pregnant, tailless stingray.

I could play with them forever.

Giving Frisbee one of many kisses! mmmwwuaH!

I’m home now and it feels strange. Sad even. Everything I left is the same but I am unquestionably different. The trip was perfect. It was phenomenal, it was eye-opening, it was hard, it was fun. I fought with myself and I embraced myself. I learned more about what I like and what I’m made of. I connected with ME more. I really believe that the best and hardest and most rewarding places on this planet are the one’s where there’s no hiding spot - there's nowhere to hide when it's just you.

And to quote the last line from my favorite book, “How wild it was to let it be”.

This Beach

Strolling along the beach, I have the sudden recognition that I was also on a beach this time last year.  It was under very different circumstances.  I was very much in love and it wasn’t too long after that trip I had my heart broken for the first time.  It was my first time to really open my heart and love someone with every inch of my being.  We loved with everything we had and it wasn't enough.  As exquisite as the love was, the pain of the end was equally exquisite.  It was excruciating.  I spent the majority of 2012 putting the pieces of my heart and myself back together. 

***

My parents met and fell in love here … I can see why and I can imagine them on this delightfully perfect beach. I’ve long imagined them in their youth strolling hand in hand, without a care in the world, spending their days tangled in each other’s arms on a - this beach. They have a beautiful relationship and it’s fun for me to think about what it must have been like when they first met. The hotel where they met each other burned down shortly after they left but the sign still remains.  Ironically, I’m staying right across the street from it so every day when I take my walks, I see it and it’s a very comforting sight for me.  It’s like a part of them remains on the island and is a poignant visual reminder of how very strong and deep the love they have for each other is.  Just as the sign survived the fire, so have they survived fires of their own.

***

Growing up I took the strength of their relationship for granted.  It’s once I entered my 20’s I realized how rare it is for two people to meet at such a young age and not only stay together but fall even more deeply in love despite the passage of time and extremely difficult challenges.  To be friends and companions.  To laugh every day together.  The depth of their commitment has always been obvious: every evening that I can remember my mom has jumped up to greet my dad with a hug and kiss when he gets home from work.  She didn’t and doesn’t have to say why – I know I’d prefer to go home to someone thrilled to see me versus an empty house or someone with a litany of demands.  She also doesn’t have to tell me that there were probably days she didn’t feel like it and did it anyways.  Probably days they’d had an argument or going through a tough time.  Maybe she was tired.  She would turn down invitations if they interfered with her being home to greet my dad.  As a child and teenager it bothered me and now I have so much respect for her commitment to this small and simple act.  And when my mom gets up from the dinner table, my dad says things like, “isn’t that the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?”  He plays with her and teases her.  He touches her.  And after 37 years the look I see in my dad’s eyes when he looks at my mom is the way I hope someone one day looks at me.

***

I say I spent 2012 putting the pieces of myself back together but the truth is I have found myself in a new shape altogether.  Maybe I wasn’t quite whole before.  Maybe I never was.  I am now and that is an exquisite thing to be able to say.