Nope.

I have a lot that needs to be restored or even first built in terms of balance and focus. I’m swinging from tree to tree these days, and I need to ground.

I’m rolling this around.

What happens when I don’t is that I remain in perpetual hope (maybe now! okay now. now?) and then I get to experience the rejection for a million years.

(how ’bout now?)

There has been so much happening with me this year in the arenas of intimacy, relationships, and also of things of old coming into the present. Each event seems to increase in intensity, and there has been a recent surge–everything is accelerated.

I am exhausted, but not out of strength.

I don’t know what to make of it, I just know it’s all important and meaningful. I am doing my best, learning what there is to learn. I am receiving a lot of sexual attention where in the past there has been an inarguable lack of it, and I can’t lie, it’s exhilarating and beautiful and at times dizzying and certainly overstimulating. In the end this may all be about restoring balance, but where I am now is certainly not what anyone could accuse of being mistaken for balance.

In January I completed a tattoo that has been a work in progress for maybe twelve (is it longer? Probably, yes) years. Certainly it has been a transitional bunch of years. What bunch of years isn’t?

I received this tattoo, this final portion, in a ritual environment, surrounded by friends. Abraham, who did the work, has been working on this piece with me for perhaps ten years? And there is Orien and Christine, pivotal figures (especially O) in my story, old and new. Abe and his partner Gordon come up to O & C’s at least once a year for a weekend of insulated ritual tattooing. Part of the ritual is declaring an intention, and mine was this; that now that we are finally finally finally completing this chapter, things would begin to manifest.

That night things started. The drummer I ended up dating for a bit; we’d been flirting for many months, but the night I got home from my tattoo weekend is when we began acknowledging the flirtation and making plans.

The next several months included the beginning middle and end of my thing with the drummer, the final reconciliation and ultimate destruction of me and Joe, another really really quick beginning middle and end with someone else, and the heart-stopping introduction of Mason. He is the wild card in all this–he is the crush of all crushes, the one that felt like such a real and magical possibility. And yet, panning out to be a big nothing for now. Certainly not to be filed under manifestation, but perhaps someday something more will be revealed.

And in all this, in June, I went to Free Spirit. And at Free Spirit I did a shamanic workshop with Sylvia, with whom I had also beautifully and lovingly connected on a personal level. At the workshop though, Orien was at my side and Christine was at his; we all took a journey. Abe and Gordon, who are students of Sylvia’s, assisted in the workshop.

And man did I journey. I think what I’m going through now really is a spin-out from that work, though it seems all connected.

I don’t think I can possibly tell all of it, both for reasons of privacy and sheer lack of endurance. There has been so much.

There is this man. I knew him back when I was like 17-20, and he is a few years older than me. I’d never been especially attracted to him, neither then nor now, but always crazy fond of him. And it started as a silly, junior high school joke of a ‘we should make out’ nature, and turned into something deeper but also more complicated, kind of in a nothing-will-ever-quite-be-the-same-even-though-we-can’t-ever-really-be-together way (oh, that old thing). This was about a month ago.

And just in case you thought the universe was not playing along, six days later I walk outside my office building and there he is, walking towards me.

Let me be clear. He was not coming to see me. He had no idea where I worked. None. We both work in Manhattan, but not at all in the same neighborhood. This was a coincidence, if you will, of biblical proportion.

That meeting was so amazing and so validating and so important. And today what I am left with is a friendship I never anticipated; one man with whom I share a pure and true connection and who is affixed in my corner.

And somewhere in all this, in the weekends sort of bookending that storyline, there was a reconnecting with Eric. Clearly something I never, ever expected. And it remains tentative and healthily distant, but it is certainly of note. And quite a clearing.

Oh and lest I forget there was a beautiful communication about two months ago with an old heartache of mine–one I’d practically forgotten about. He offered me apologies, declarations of affection and admiration, and many tears were shed on both sides. I hadn’t forgotten about him per se, but about how truly connected we had once been. And actually I knew that day that this was a continuation of the shamanic work. I just had no idea what a floodgate was opened!

Two weeks ago

I get a call from a man who I’d been, for all intents and purposes, in love with. It was all kinds of unrequited (he is married with two young kids), it (the unrequited desire) went on for a couple years, and now it’s been two years since I’ve seen him. We speak semi-regularly, and the intensity that I had brought to the situation is gone. Now I just am happy when we talk, and it feels balanced.

But he’s calling to say he needs to see me. That he has this secret he’s been wanting to get off his chest for years and I was the only person in the world he trusted with it and he was ready–now was the time. (just for some background, there was talk of this secret/confession a few years ago. he just ended up dropping it. putting it away, to be more precise.) So we make a plan. And I am shaking. I’m barely curious about what it is, for me I am just so moved and flattered and excited.

The very next morning I get a lengthy email from someone–I just can’t tell this story at all but it was an amazing message; one I really hadn’t anticipated receiving.

And half an hour later I get an email from Joe. It begins like this:

I am sorry. I love you. I am sorry. Sorry for the fact that we did not work out as a couple. Sorry for all of the pain that I may have caused you as we tried to build something. Sorry for all of the times that I just didn’t get it or wasn’t aware enough to sense your needs, wants, concerns.

It continues from there. It was out of character for Joe to give so much. Not… that sounds so shitty of me. But he wasn’t generous when it came to communication. He would be available upon request, and he would say what was needed, but he rarely made such offerings. And it always seemed incongruous with who he really was. And I’d told him as much. So this seems both out of and in character for Joe. I responded; there was a bit of back and forth. I am not ready to just swallow the rest and be friends, but I know (have known all along) that is in my future.

So uh… that was all in 15 hours.

Since then, I have received the confession, which turned into just an amazing evening of sharing and fun and closeness. He told me, when he was already gone, safely on his way home, that I am one of the few people he can talk to the way that we talk, and he finds it really attractive. In me. Him saying that to me was such a gift, after never ever knowing it before. Ahh, the lure of the married man. And I do adore this one.

And just when I thought I could rest, another man, who is sort of peppered throughout different places in my past, both distant and more recent, started poking around. This one is a very odd situation. It’s kind of cat and mouse, or maybe cat and cat (or mouse and mouse). I can’t figure out what is or isn’t happening, but I cannot ignore the fact that out of nowhere, I found myself on the phone with this very attractive man for nearly two hours.

And okay this is just the fucking weirdest. Saturday morning (the morning following the aforementioned phone call) I leave a comment (the first in what will become a long thread) on a facebook post of a celebrity–not like, a George Clooney level celebrity, more like a Jill Sobule level celebrity. And the third comment after mine is from a man I’d slept with about four years ago–a really nasty person, the one I sincerely regret. I’d never seen him on there; would have not been able to come up with his last name without being prompted by SEEING IT RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF ME.

I’d already begun asking myself, Who else? Started looking back into my history to see who else might pop up. But I’d never come up with that one. And really, if someone bad is going to make an appearance, that was a pretty safe way for it to occur–truly, literally, just an appearance, entirely non-invasive. Just a little startling.

That day (oh. Yesterday!) I went to an absolutely wonderful wedding. This was the wedding, and next weekend will be the handfasting. Yesterday I began telling Orien just small pieces of what’s been happening, and I said it started all the way back with the tattooing. Now, I had given Gordon, Abraham’s partner, a down payment on a new piece–a peacock tattoo that I’ve been thinking about for over three years. And we were planning on doing this next January, back at O & C’s. Only Orien says to me yesterday that Gordon is planning on coming up for the handfasting and doing tattooing and I could get my tattoo next weekend.

Like I said, it’s all intense and it’s all accelerated. I had tears of joy that this work will be happening next weekend.

One of the repeated themes, from every single one of these guys (well except for the regretted asshat) is, You are one of the most amazing women I have ever known and you did then and do now impact my life.

Now, there is some pain associated with receiving this message, over and over and over. Because of course what goes along with it is And, y’know, I hope you find someone who clearly isn’t me but who recognizes this and loves you the way you deserve (and whom you love back). And that gets a little old.

But it is exquisite, even when it is exquisite pain, to be receiving this message, and in such high doses.

I’ll just blog a little bit before bed. I had a migraine all day and the last two days at work I was just a moody motherfucker, but right now I’m sort of okay. Tired, but not overwhelmingly so.

There has just been so much, if I look back at the year since January it just hasn’t stopped for me. Change. New things. That’s what hasn’t stopped. And a lot of work. Long, long work hours. And a great deal of inactivity in between.

Hm. At the beginning of the year I was feeling pretty great, and right now I feel a little crummy. Not horrible, not despairing, not even rotten. Just not my greatest. But I wonder (and that was the ‘hm’) if the feelings are accurate indicators for how I’m actually doing. I don’t, in fact, feel that I’m doing poorly. And so it occurs to me, and I believe I’ve written about this before, that when I’m feeling my best is not necessarily when I’m ‘on top of’ things, for lack of a better way to illustrate.

I dunno.

Lately.

A few months ago I got swept off my feet by an image of a man. And it is the image of what I want which swept me off my feet–the man did no such thing. I mean, the man was real (he is real) but I hardly know him and he has shown no interest in me. There is no relationship–he is a crush, if you will. But a crush that has been high impact. This man, or the idea of this man, is someone I could see myself totally digging, enjoying the crap out of talking with him and learning from him and doing things with him–cooking or driving or adventuring or mundaning. I can see it all, but I can also feel how easy it is and how fun. And that , even just the fantasy, has offered me a glimmer of what being with the right person could feel like.

While in fact there has been a series this year of the wrong persons.

What I want to write about these days is so intimate that I don’t think I can write about it in this forum. It is my ultimate exploration, but frankly it exposes all my specifics and let’s face it, I’m pretty public, so maybe not such a good idea. My Mad Men blog is getting me well over my 15 minutes of fame (as you may know, because you may just be someone who found this blog via that one).

So what I want to write about is the relationship and confusion around affection, sexual relationships, intimacy, degrees of caring–all that stuff. I want to write about it because writing it out helps me to work it out. And it is so tangley.

But kind of it’s none of your business.

And so this is my dilemma.

l dated someone for about six weeks early this year, although we sort of started talking about getting together for at least a month before that.

And then there was someone else in the early part of the summer.

In there was a weekend at Joe’s house, where we came together and broke apart, only this time was the final time.

And a week later I met Mr. Feet Sweeper.

And I have been managing each of these situations, and the psychic aftermath. But it’s been a lot.

And I’ve learned so much, and drawn lots of conclusions.

And then a few weeks ago, something happened with a new man and everything I thought I’d worked out changed.

Basically, this was a friend. A buddy. One with flirtation, but not one with strong attraction, at least from my end. Mild interest at best, and considering how many people are my type, this is a practically flaccid report.

And there was some kissing. And like, it came out of silliness. A hair more mature than spin-the-bottle.

It turned into a bit of extended kissing-type activity.

But here is the thing–there was tenderness. Intimacy. And a beautiful connection.

And neither of us ever saw that coming.

And my head is spinning just from that information. (okay and the experience). I thought I was done with having feelings form from that vantage point. I thought I’d grown out of it, that it was an impossibility. And so it changes everything about anyone that I like a little.

As for this guy, we’re not a match. There are reasons and huge big drama that I’m not gettin’ into. But it’s enough to say that we aren’t seeing each other, and we won’t be.

And he is a lovely person and it has been a devastating experience for me, in both good and bad ways.

There has been so much else going on, stuff at work and Mad Men stuff and money stuff; several new friendships and other old relationships starting to heal. All that and then this surprise dropped into the middle of it.

It took me a little while to adjust. There were a lot of text messages at first, and a surprise meeting in the middle of Manhattan (in a coincidence of biblical proportion), and some phone calls and some facebook annoyance. But I am definitely close to the edge of the woods–I can see it from here. Really, I’m doing well.

I am!

…are a little messed up right now.

As always, I’ve been meaning to write more. And I haven’t. And I’ve had so much cool stuff to talk about.

And now a couple of things have occurred and I cannot write about either. At least right now. And they happened within 24 hours of each other, and they are both large, and one is very terrible, and one is both terrible and beautiful.

And I am very, very jumbley. And suddenly feeling (appropriately) unstable. And I don’t know what’s next in so many ways.

I’ve wanted to write about:

• The experience of being over Joe; having him out of my system

• Other guy stuff; one more that came and went very quickly

• Our trip to LA and meeting Jon Hamm

I’ll be back. I will.

I heard pieces of an interview with someone today–a singer/songwriter chick on WFUV. A good one, an accomplished one. I just couldn’t figure out who. I’m trying to find out.

Regardless. I am going to paraphrase something she said that really struck me:

My songwriting helps me navigate my life. I write songs and that is how I discover how much I’ve learned.

(I will be able to find out next week who she was, and if I have the patience, I will get the actual quote.)

I have had no consistency with my writing in a very long time. Especially not in here (or maybe I have in fact been consistent in here, merely scarce).

And I have been going through some interesting stuff, emotionally. Experientially. But a lot of it is elusive. Kind of muddy.

I’ve wanted to write, but I can’t think how to start. And I never really remember that truly, in here, in this space, all I need to do is start typing. This is a journal, so my opening can always be, if I must, “I have nothing to write about. I’ve been busy.”

But it hadn’t occurred to me until I heard her say that this morning, that writing could actually help me get some clarity. Just didn’t cross my mind. So that’s interesting.

Here’s another thing. Songwriting. I haven’t written in years. And I’ve never felt that I’ve really found my songwriting voice (one major reason I don’t write). I have some really good songs. But it’s never flowed, like when I write in here or like when I’m sharing thoughts with a friend. When I’m blogging, and when I’m speaking on something I feel passionate about, I have a very distinctive point of view. As like, a brand, Roberta is very strong. And that has never been the case with my songwriting. And about a month ago it hit me–I should write from here. This is the place I should write from. Historically I have never infused my songs with my particular wisdom; I think I play a more lost character in my songs. And so wouldn’t it be interesting if I could do this. If I could be as frank in my songs as I am everywhere else.

More as this develops.

My weekend was so full and delicious.

First of all, the preceding workweek was amazingly and unprecedentedly peaceful. Two occurences magically converged—there was breaking news/drug complications in my therapeutic category (I work for a promotional medical education agency whose clients = big pharma companies) that is basically an opportunity for new messaging on one of our major brands. And what it meant for most of my team was that all our work is on hold until they work this out. And so we had nearly nothing to do. Every day last week. And? My direct supervisor, who is directly evil, was on vacation. Had she been in, my ass would have been in my chair until 6:00 every night, but because she was out, I could leave at 5:00, 5:30, even 4:30 on Thursday (and we were closed Friday yaaay). It was all legitimate; the appropriate people were aware of my departure times— she just would have made it difficult for me. So there was a lot of breathing last week.

And then my weekend. I got a phone call while I was on the bus home on Thursday; an invite to a happy hour. So by 7:00 I was over at the Notch, having a whiskey sour, playing my guitar on the porch in a little song exchange with some friends. It was such a great jumpstart.

The full weekend included:

- One date with someone I’ve been seeing. One date with someone new. (maybe a date. the jury is out, but it was datelike.)
- Two live bands; Thursday night and Friday night.
- A walk around downtown Jersey City to start scoping out the possibility of living there. Very proud of myself for doing that, and mom joined me, which helped.
- Some fooding for the following parties; I made my very first cheesecakes (lemon) which came out delicious, and my nearly-epic potato salad
- Two sets of music, now that I think of it—the first I already mentioned, but I also played a real set at Ray and Tracy’s, with Ray and Adam and Arthur drumming along.
- Three parties:
> Friday night at Peter and Lori’s—they have wonderful outdoor parties that feel kind of like high school only everyone is old.
> Saturday at Ray and Tracy’s, good friends, a maybe date and only a bit of drama. Then we watched the Ridgewood fireworks which kind of kicked ass
> Sunday at mom’s, which was really nice. Connected with the daughters (one especially) of a friend of my mom’s. And Benjamin and Evy were there. Any time spent with Ben and Evelyn is a good time.

Honestly by Saturday morning I already felt like I’d had a full weekend, and it just went on and on.

It’s just—overall my life feels lighter, and I feel abundance everywhere. Since when? This phase kicked off after the weekend with Joe (or, after the aftermath of), followed by the weekend where I went to Paul’s memorial, and then a few weeks later I was at Free Spirit, and at Free Spirit I did major shamanic work, and I keep feeling the shift.

(But all year. The tattooing in January, leading into the drummer I was seeing, leading into making plans to see Joe. I have been feeling the upswing… upping and swinging, for many months.)

I don’t know if I should be writing anything about what I might start writing about. Just—there is this boy I like. I mean sure, there are lots of boys I like, and I’m maybe even seeing a few of them. But there is this boy I like.

I am obsessing for sure, because that is what I do. I can’t get this one out of my mind, and I have a hope and a dream and a wonder.

And so A) he is not a good idea at this time, plus B) I don’t even feel like he likes me back.

But I can’t stop thinking about what might happen down the line when A) it becomes a better time for him, and B) what if he starts to like me back? Or maybe he already does, only I just don’t know it.

Yes. I am being all kinds of cryptic again. I really need to. But I will name him Mason for this blog.

I’ve had no indication that he likes me back, in the ‘likes’ me way. He most certainly likes me in the ‘friend’ (ugh) way. Who wouldn’t?

The other day though, there was a slight break in the ‘like’ department—an indication. A possible indication of the other kind of ‘like’. Which, while it could be nothing, it could also absolutely be something.

To be filed under the category of, Roberta, Leave this all the fuck alone and stop pushing the river.

My worst category, for those of you who haven’t been following along at home.

And so the indication, or my interpretation of this indication, is like, Danger Will Robinson.

It’s complicated, and it’s private, why Mason is not an option right now, and why any closeness now would be a bad thing. And in my head of heads, I do not want him liking me right now.

Of course, my head of heads is not what will make my decisions. Because in my heart of hearts I want to be with him as much as I have ever wanted to be with anyone. More. I’m gonna go with more.

And so what am I gonna do? I’m gonna follow this thing. Of course I am. I’m already breaking some rules I’d set up for myself. And if he somehow wants to see me, I’ll see him. And if something happens between us and I know it’s a mistake, I’ll make the mistake.

Somehow, this little thing got indicated. Somehow, he couldn’t help himself with leaking this little extra piece of affection that I would never have seen coming.

And I’m fully obsessed. I see that too. I go a few days, but then we interact and my stomach is doing acrobatics and I’m buzzing. I’m up half the night with the excitement of having interacted.

I try to think through scenarios. And I thought through one touch. ONE touch; I pictured us hanging in a non-date setting and us maybe cooking together or something and as we’re in the kitchen his hand touches my back as we work. I got to that moment in my head and I physically flashed on the affect it had on me. Jolts of heat and emotion. I flashed on all of that. If he wants me, he gets me.

And all I can hope is that between the insanity that is me obsessed, and the brokenness that is him in his current situation, that this either is guided by magical lightness into something substantive and long-lasting, or it fades the fuck away before it goes anywhere at all.

Sometimes when you feel free and open and forward-moving you are really just very stuck.

I really wish that weren’t the case. But the truth is that feeling wonderful is very tricky, because you assign it health.

So when I am feeling good will I always assume I am at my best?

And will it even serve me to assume otherwise?

Ahh, these are the great mysteries of life’s lessons.

So anyway, I can look back at everything leading up to Joe as stucker than I’d thought. But I can also not. I got to Joe’s, and it knocked me loose.

And I feel really loose. And really excited. And really gentle.

I could write all day, but I can’t write all day, so once again I will try to topline things, and talk about coming back later to elaborate, which either will or won’t happen.

Last night I went to see Brett’s show. Brett is the gay guy I picked up many weeks back, the one with whom I plan on working musically. Only last night I learned that he is a major, major talent. This was a collection of his songs, performed by a collection of brilliant cabaret performers. “And this one is from my musical ____ …”. “So-and-so asked me to write a song for her act that expressed…” Yeah. Genius. I spoke with some of the performers. They were like, yup, Brett is the real deal, and we need to keep getting the word out.

And he wants to work with me! I was literally bouncing down the street after the show, a la tigger. I am bowled over, and more so that I have somehow, through seeming randomness, attracted this guy into my life. That is the kind of magic I can get behind.

I have decided to move. Not far, just closer to the city. Lease is up November 1, but I need to get to work. Sorting, packing, throwing things out, saving some money, and checking out neighborhoods and apartments. My horrible job situation has had a pretty significant shift, activated by me, and my job is as secure as a job can be, considering no job is fully secure. But I have been told I am exceeding expectations and have turned things around and that I am kind of the gold standard for what they wanted of my position. And other things about what’s coming down the line. So I am moving, and I am excited.

Joe encouraged me to make one change in my diet, and it’s been amazing–I now eat fruit every morning, only fruit and then more substantive breakfast (and my coffee) 30-60 minutes later. I’ve done it every morning since I visited him (Memorial Day weekend) except for a couple of mornings at Free Spirit. And it’s working wonders on my digestive system. Really really big changes.

More yoga. Always a challenge, but I’m doing it.

The workshop I took with Sylvia at Free Spirit–a shamanic, tantric breathwork ceremony–it is still with me. I feel changed. It has mostly been so subtle, but it was not subtle work. I can’t think about it too much, or I will go back to it and just cry and cry. And it is good to know I can go back like that. There is more crying to be had, and I’m glad I know where to find it. But as for now? Two things I can identify. Yesterday I had a rotten retail experience where I got extremely angry and refused to pay what I was being charged. This was as ugly as things get and goodness knows I can flare up pretty hot. But the level of anger that I carried away with me was notably lower than is my norm after something like that. I did not maintain it the way I would have previously. The other thing is that the irritation on my chest, the skin problems I’ve endured for the last three + years, seems to have faded. I have no idea if that’s the truth, but right now it all feels good. The heaviest work I did was in the heart and throat chakras, and I wore a necklace into the ceremony (total coincidence–I didn’t even know we were working chakras) that is a green stone, specifically gifted to me a few years ago to aid my heart chakra. Because the work was so powerful I’ve been wearing that charged up necklace ever since. And my chest hasn’t been irritated. Typically I can’t wear necklaces more than once a week or even less because it’s so uncomfortable. So that is pretty wild.

I feel brighter. Somehow the peacock colors are with me–I’m wearing them, I’m radiating them. In January I am getting the tattoo I’ve been wanting for three years, but it will be entirely new and unique from what I’d seen, and I’m excited and ready.

I don’t know what gets the credit. I mean, there’s a lot converging. I am definitely in a lighter mood. A huge weight at work is lifted. I participated in the ceremony. I feel, for the first time since I’ve met him, really done with Joe. I had a taste of love at first sight–even if just a taste of what that might be like. I have someone new I’m hanging with, and someone else I’m talking about hanging with. I have a few musical projects in the works. The yoga, the fruit. I don’t know what gets the credit, but I like that there’s a lot converging. And so much manifesting.

So am I forward-moving or just feeling good? Not gonna lie, I don’t know if I care that much right now.

(But I am forward-moving.)

Top line:

• Got my tattoo touched up (the color had fallen out last January)
• Danced one of the best bonfires I’ve ever attended
• Threw my own concert. Little handmade signs around the camp. Right off our porch, full sound system.
• Deepened some friendships
• Bought two really pretty rings
• Co-hosted an awesome feast
• Got lots of body work done; two massages and some reiki (the second massage and the reiki were to undo the injury obtained in the first massage. but still.) I received so much healing I got full.
• Ate the most delicious vegan dish ever
• Committed to the big peacock tattoo. Down payment. Game on.
• Hung out with true and dear friends
• Relaxed, relaxed, relaxed.
• Went to one yoga class, and did some on my own
• Made Dunkin Donuts coffee runs
• Got mudded
• Ate a lot of cookies
• Made my bed ; )
• Participated in a tantric shamanism breathwork ceremony. The greatest, hardest work I’ve ever done.
• Did not pursue one single boy. Not one. No one caught my eye. In my case, this is cause for celebration.
• Despite a lot of rain and a lot of bugs and a lot of unruly children, vibed nicely with the friends with whom I camped (cabined)

Am I forgetting anything?

I want to write more about the experience of Paul’s memorial.

It’s hard, because I am writing too infrequently, and so many things have been happening. It’s already hard to go back to this one, but I am being insistent that I get it down. Because it was important, and it is at risk of getting covered with more current urgencies.

And, I mean, these past few weeks have been rich. There was a very different reunion, and my mom being given an extraordinary honor where I made a speech and everything, and big revelations at my job, and a new guy I am seeing, but I need to first write about this other thing.

I grew up in Ridgewood, NJ, a gorgeous town of affluence–one of the most expensive towns in one of the most expensive counties in the state, top whatever school systems probably in the country.

I couldn’t have fit in less.

With all that money, there was a lot of indifference and indulgence. I graduated high school in 1983. Breakfast Club? I mean, to a degree, but frankly, the different sanctions were a lot more integrated than in that film. Sure, there were jocks and heads but they intermingled.

The heads. Short for potheads, right? Ah-hah, but also deadheads. And Paul was very much at the center of that world.

And I was not. My best friend was friends with all those guys, and I was friendly with everyone as well, but for many reasons I will not cite here and now I did not spend a lot of time with that scene. Two of the reasons were that I wasn’t into the Grateful Dead concerts, (though I did love me some American Beauty), and I wasn’t into tripping–I was terrified of it. Long story.

So I’m gonna leave that all there, and fast-forward to the day of Paul’s memorial.

I’m seeing families dancing to a jam band, little kids running around, and a lot of hugging and tears. I’m seeing people with their hippie on, but mostly, it feels like soccer moms who’ve retained a little of their high school hippie, or were resurrecting it.

I’m struggling, right now as I’m thinking this through. There is something from back then that I can’t put my finger on. Because I distinctly remember thinking I was the only hippie in my high school. I remember dressing as one for halloween and doing it up so authentically that it got attention–I had a hippie dad living in a hippie world (western Mass) and I’d been exposed to dealers and reggae and super-gorp way back in grammar school. Maybe that was it. Maybe that’s part of this story. I was trying to be a 60s hippie, and maybe that’s what kept me from seeing the authenticity of what was happening around me. That, and the self-centered fear that had me believe I was a freak; a real freak, like a freakshow freak, like no one in the world is like me freak. Lacking in the self-love, was I, while growing up.

What I’m trying to get to though, is there was something authentic going on. And I didn’t know it. Years later I went out and discovered paganism and the community and festivals and dancing around bonfires. And I thought we owned that.

So now it’s the after-party. And I’m talking to the guy, the one I was digging. Now he feels a little like the real deal, hippiewise, but I hadn’t quite processed that yet. Full beard, not clean on the sides. Shoulda been a clue. All I know is I feel so comfortable with him. Shoulda been a clue.

Anyway I see him interacting with the kids that are running around, so I ask him whose are they all. And that’s when he starts explaining how he and two other families (I think? was it three total, or four? see how I should have written this a few weeks ago?) live communally–not in a commune, but all within five minutes of each other, and they all participate with each other’s children, and have dinner together a few nights a week. And this is up in Massachusetts, but the group is made up of New Jersey locals, at least partly. I think. Sometimes my brain…

And I am floored. Really. Floored. Seriously? I’m asking him. I had no idea this was going on. This all evolved out of what was going on back then? Yup, he assures me. I told him I was amazed. That I had gone far from my starting point to find what I found. I had no idea that tribes were being formed right under my nose. That Paul’s world had this much substance.

Now, to be fair, this is not where everyone landed. Most of them are soccer moms, are two in a box, are no longer smoking that stuff and if they are, they are certainly shielding their kids from that fact. But something beautiful came out of that scene.

And believe me, this escalated my little crush. And so, a bit about that. He is so exactly the kind of guy I could only hope to find, living the kind of life I could only hope to live. (And fine, I’ll say it–he is kind of like Joe only cooler. And easier to talk to–just, not so much work. More comfortable in his own skin. This on the heels of my final Joe weekend. Literally, one week earlier. Yes, I digress.) It was interesting–the potency of it, of the big ‘want’ faded very quickly, in maybe two days. It kinda felt in my moment like I fell very hard, but it really passed right through me. Like, I’m comfortable being his friend. It feels very natural. And so I was trying to diagnose why that is, why it is that it got right-sized so quickly and not in any way painful. And what I’ve come up with is that somehow it wasn’t very personal. I mean, he was lovely and beautiful and warm and familiar, and the attraction was very real, (and that shit don’t fade so quickly) but it didn’t in any way feel like he was mine. or that we had any intimacy. It was more like, ooh, I’d like one of them please.

(Though as a post-script to that, it is a friendship that may in fact be becoming an intimate one. But I didn’t even feel that on that day–we had a nice connection, but it didn’t feel important. Only my stuff felt larger than life.)

And that’s where the two revelations swirl together. Because, as silly as this sounds, I didn’t know people like this really existed beyond the pagan community. It literally was, I’d like one of them please. And the excitement that one of them even existed. And all of them.

Later I went downstairs where the band was playing in the basement, and the people who were into it were so. beautifully. into it. And that’s when I saw how it wasn’t just fear that had kept me apart, but judgment. I looked at these people getting their freak on and saw how that would have looked to me when I was younger–somehow I think I’d written them off as a bunch of poseurs, except for the most hardcore. Maybe no one else had the Breakfast Club segregation, but I think in my mind I did. Maybe if a freak was grooving, I’d buy it, but if a jock was? He was full of shit. But now, this night, I saw everyone just letting themselves feel it, and get ecstatic. And I also saw how connecting that is–how when you’re side by side, ecstasy to ecstasy, you’re gonna feel more loving toward each other. I can’t believe I missed all that.

Now the truth is my ADD self still doesn’t love the jam band thing–this was actually the perfect setting for me. I’ll lose myself in it and then I’ll come back out and need to walk around, and here in this house I could do that; talk to people, do a little singing myself. (I’m the same in fire circles–I’m in, but then I’m out talking to people.) But holy crap I am so glad I experienced what I did, saw what I saw and met who I met.

And so there was this whole jam band scene in the 80s, and its influence seems to have been far-reaching. I feel like it would make a great book. It could even be around Paul, who was instrumental in so much. I am not the one to write such a book. I am not research girl, and these stories need digging. But also need telling.

So far I know of two things that I walked away with. One is, I am starting to consider not qualifying myself as Wiccan. Truth is, I’m not very religious, and I never have been. I love participating, but on my own, it’s all a lot more nebulous. I am drawn to tribal living, I am drawn to people who acknowledge the magic that is in and around us, and well, I’m drawn to full beards. Beyond that I don’t know. But I’m not stressing.

And last night I was out hearing a band, and I was almost entirely straight and sober, but they were quite jammy. And there was this streamer/ribbon hanging from the ceiling, and I took hold of it and danced with it all swirly–like fire-spinner swirly. And I never do shit like that. But it was beautiful, to feel…more loose and more free.