Thursday July 7, 2014

 

After my morning hike, a swim in the warm pool, and a shower, I walk the two miles to the bus station to take the free city bus into Downtown Park City. A handsome young man on a green skateboard sits on the bench next to me. I ask, “What time will the bus get here?”

“32 after the hour. Well, at least it should.” His British accent makes me giggle internally.

“Thanks.” The silence seeps in and I start to grab my smart phone. But I decide against it. There is the possibility of connection in every human interaction. I want to be able to talk to people next to me. To connect, to make new friends, to look up and into another person’s eyes. I break the silence. “Do you live here?” I ask.

“Yes, right near Fresh Market.” I nod as if to say, I live here too. But I have no idea what he is talking about.

“What do you do?” I ask turning my body to face him.

“I’m a freestyle skier.” He leans forward. I can tell he has answered this question before.

“A professional one?” I think back to my college days, my friends that are professional snowboarders and avid skiers. Memories, names, moments flood in.

“Yes.” He can tell where these questions are going.

“Were you in the Olympics?”

“Yes.”

“Did you win?”

He smiles and laughs. “Not this time.”

“Well, what is your name so I can brag that I met an Olympic athlete.”

“James Macmon. I represent Great Britain.”

I want to say, ‘well your sexy accent certainly gives that away.‘ But I omit that thought.

He asks what I do. I explain the road trip, the sabbatical, the ELF. And he smiles. “That’s amazing.” The bus pulls up and we both hop on. At his stop he turns to wave goodbye. “Nice meeting you. Have a nice dinner,” he says.

I look up from my gazing out the window and say, “Good luck in the next Olympics. I’m rooting for you.”

“Thank you very much.”

And he is gone. In this fleeting moment of connection, I feel a bit more grounded, related and relatable. We lose sight of the process of expression with strangers, the possibility that these strangers may turn into friends. It takes a certain level of vulnerability to open up, to look up, to ask questions and give answers. I am a person that is comfortable with the range of human emotions. I welcome deep conversations. I want to know about the internal life as well as the external. It may be difficult to reach a level of vulnerability with one another because vulnerability begets the possibility of hurt, pain and loss. But without vulnerability, there is no deep connection. So you choose.

I find a restaurant in historic Downtown Park City. I sit with my book open and my eyes full of the mountains in front of me. The red trolley rides up and down the narrow, inclined street. I order and sip a nice glass of red wine. I’m taking myself out tonight. The risotto is bland even though it is the risotto on the cover of Park City magazine. I add salt, pepper, and hot sauce. The waiter notices that I have only finished half of the risotto. Now I am just pushing it around on my plate. “Did you not like it?” “It’s a little bland,” I’ve decided to be more honest, albeit polite in my life. I will not be passively aggressive, just state my mind without hurting feelings. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Maybe just another glass of wine. I get full pretty quickly.” He boxes the risotto and brings me another glass of wine. I half listen to the sounds around me as I re-read Jitterbug Perfume. I revel in the ability to sit here and just read a book, without a deadline, without anything else to do but enjoy the space and time around me. I cherish it. I know this type of time doesn’t come around very often, if ever. Every five minutes or so, a couple, or a gaggle of people enter into a bar. The line is short but it is always moving. After the indulged dinner, I get a text from Pamela. “How are you?”

“Good. Watching the locals go into this bar up the street. I’m debating going in alone.”

“Sending sass and fire your way. I say go for it.” I smile knowing she is grinning on the other side of the country.

“I will.” And that text gives me the courage to stand up from the table and find a seat at the bar at the “No Name Saloon.”

I sit next to a blonde haired man with a discerning face. He’s a bit like a Ken doll but he’s a thinker. I can see it in the way he sizes me up. I can tell he is intelligent by the way his eyes dart around the room.

I ask the bartender about their best red wine and he hands me a taste of all three.

“Now that’s the way to do it.”

“Yep.” I take a sip of all three wines. “I’ll just tell him I’m full now.”

The man laughs and introduces himself. “I’m Daniel.”

“What do you do Daniel?” I say. I look at his ring finger. It’s always good to know what kind of conversation you might be getting into or getting yourself out of.

“Are you sure you want to get into it?”

“Yes, I can handle it.”

“I’m in the energy business.” 

And Daniel and I connect over alternative energy sources, solar energy specifically, and the way his company VIA is revolutionizing the industry. It hasn’t happened fast enough but change comes slowly, no matter the output of energy. Change is the only constant. Our conversation is deep, intelligent, long, and winded. But those are the conversations I like the most.

I admire Daniel and his candor. He is a smart man that wants to change the world. Ironically, he is looking to buy a house in Topanga. He and his wife are going to Burning Man. So we connect on many levels. He asks if I am married or have children. I get that question a lot. At 35, people expect that I should say yes to either of those prompts. “No. Not yet.” I say knowing that this is correct. Someday. Soon. Daniel talks about meeting his second wife, the one. He tells me not to give up. But to also be specific in what I want. “Keep looking. Keep trying. Be vulnerable. But be specific,” he says.

“Can you elaborate?”

“In being specific you are setting up a life you actually want, not a compromised one. That isn’t to say we don’t make compromises throughout a good relationship, but you won’t compromise on the really important things, whatever they may be for you.”

I take a sip of wine and sip into what he just said.

His lovely wife texts him after her yoga class and he brags a bit about her and how wonderful she is. I admire his adoration. He excuses himself to meet her at home and I make my way to the waiting taxicab. Because of this brief connection, opening to a stranger, lengthy conversation, and vulnerability, I was passed along an important and wise piece of advice. I will remember to be vulnerable in opening to all relationships but specific in my opening to a romantic one.

In each of these strangers, each connection that I make, I see a beautiful presence, a contribution, and a cultivation of spirit. I see pieces of a future partner, reminders of the type of love I want to cultivate. Daniel reminds me that my partner will be a go-getter, someone that is not afraid to take risks. His demeanor also represents unabashed intelligence. James reminds me that an adventurous spirit is imperative. Nora and Lara remind me that my partner must laugh a lot and find humor in the world. Todd reminds me that I need a spiritual connection with a partner. Pamela reminds me that sass is powerful and to always care for my body. The families that surround me on this trip remind me that there is such a blessed connection is having a family.

As I get wiser, I realize that I have to be specific about my needs and desires. And that I need to talk openly and with kindness about these desires, wants, and needs in a relationship before I jump in for the long haul. And while we may not get all of the things we put down on our wish list, I am learning about the things I absolutely need, and the things that I can overlook. One of my absolutes is the desire to have children and start a loving family. If that is not on a potential suitors list, then I am willing to walk away without feeling hurt or rejected.

My dear friend Ethan once taught me the practice of “Me, Not Me.” Sitting across from one another, cross-legged and still in the middle of a workshop, he says, “Hold your hands up. Bring them to your chest like this. Say Me” I hold my hands up and put them towards my chest.

I say, “Me.” I feel a sense of connection to my self, a strange acknowledgement of my sense of selfhood.

“Now, bring them to my chest and say, Not Me.” I push my hands away from my body and towards his.

I look in his eyes and say, “Not Me.” Then I look down. The feeling spreads throughout my entire body. I feel strength, power, assertion, even as the pain is so palpable.

Then he says, “Try it again but now imagine that I am Johnny. All of the pain and suffering you bear in your separation, his decision to not have children. It isn’t yours to hold. That is his path. Separate his needs from yours. Practice me, not me.”

I pull my hands towards my body and immediately start to cry. “Me.” I look at him and see all of the pain I bottled up there, the guilt, the desire, held for another person, for a false path. I push my hands towards his chest and say through broken breath, “Not Me.”

“Good. Do it again.”

“Me, Not Me. Me, Not Me.” I practice this over and over. Dear Ethan lets me cry and heave my way through it. I fall forward exhausted. And he hugs me tightly. I will never forget this moment. It was a breakthrough for me. I still use this practice today, reminding myself that while vulnerability and connection are imperative, we can still maintain a sense of self that is compassionate, giving, and wise. Thank you Ethan. 

Conscious connection is the ability to reach out for human connection, to be vulnerable and compassionate. To be consciously connected is to have the courage to speak up about specific needs. It is also the ability to recognize that people are on their own journeys, separate from yours. And while you made meet up with someone for a time, it is ok to also let him or her go. And it is also wise to know when to walk away. To be consciously connected is to love you in solitude and silence to create space for the great sage. To be conscious and connected is to walk towards brevity in love. Be wise, have an open heart, be willing to be vulnerable and present, powerful and specific, and proud of who you are.

“Me. Not Me. To make space for the “Us.”