ROI - a lesson in feel-nomics.

I am taking yoga teacher training right now and it is more of a spiritual journey for me than a physical one.  The movement comes naturally to me but my own presence kind of freaks me out.  Part of my homework for this week is to write a 60 second speech on what natural gift I possess and offer the world.  We also have to journal about our passions...I listed writing as a passion and realized I haven't posted in a long time...so here I am, being all passionate n' stuff.

It is good timing for a blog though, I have lots on my plate that is clogging that uber important pathway from my heart to my brain.  The enlightenment I am finding in teacher training is opening me up so much emotionally and I find it rewarding, but with every feeling that slips out of it's tightly closed spot in my heart, a struggle ensues.  I am fighting against a principle I have relied on so heavily the past couple years, "What is my ROI?"

ROI stands for "Return on Investment."  Essentially the better the expected return, the higher the ROI.  Therefore, I only go forward with relationships that will likely offer higher ROI.  Typical addict to use an investment strategy to determine potential mates and a cost / benefit analysis to determine if the time is worth it at all.  I ask myself what my potential ROI is every time I have feelings for someone.  Today at work a co-worker of mine told me I need to STOP.  That I will get a far greater reward if I take a risk.  I bluntly replied, "I am more of a flexible rate GIC kinda girl."  

(I know this is starting off nerdy but stay with me...it will get juicy soon.)

So I am at a crossroads, do I continue on my safe path, getting little back but being in control; or do I put all my chips on the table and hope for a royal flush?  Heck, I'd even settle for a strait right now!

The center of this dilemma is J.  J doesn't need a description because I am sure by now you trust my judgement in men...right?  Okay, fine, I will defend it.  He is happy!  That is the neatest thing!  He laughs constantly, he smiles genuinely, he listens earnestly, he comments truthfully...he's the type of person that you instantly connect with.  He helps others in ways I never could, he doesn't back down from a challenge or hard work, he leads by example, and doesn't hold resentments.  He doesn't judge me for my temper tantrums and he shows up when he says he will.  He is so likable.  TOO likable.

We are playful on the phone and there is a heaviness between us in person that has yet to be explored.  We haven't been physical in any sense, except the hello / good bye hugs are getting longer, and I am eager and yet grateful it hasn't been pushed.  I roll over in bed in the morning and wish that he was there to latch onto for an extra 5 minutes, and at night I wish he was there too.  I am excited like I was in grade 6 when I had a big crush on Ricky! 

Here it is though...the kicker.  What if I say something mature like, "we are compatible.  Would you like to go on a date, practicing some kissin, and then see where it goes?" and he says, "um ya, but with someone else...you're WAY too good of a friend!"  So, there it is...the fear or rejection.  When I told Kristi about my crush on Ricky in grade 6, she went and told him...he and I haven't been friends since then.  I don't want that to happen!  I have taken the initial risk of asking him to hang out a couple of times, and I am 0/2...which is a discouraging statistic (unless you are a Blue Jays fan, then you are used to it).  

So, now I look at my cost benefit analysis on a broader scale; do I continue to be meak about my feelings in almost all situations to protect my ego, or do I put my shoulders back and speak up?  Yoga is teaching me about being true to myself, I don't think "true to (my)self" means shutting down or hiding from the truth.  I think it means authenticity.  But acting authentic requires laying aside fears and my fears are the bricks around my carefully guarded heart.  So, Kristi, if you are reading this, would you please tell J I have a crush on him...and if he doesn't talk to me anymore I'll know why.  Until then, I will play it "cucumber cool" and trust that there is a plan infinitely bigger than me and my protective fears.

I wish the answer to life was as simple as read the book, follow the rules.

I am a girl.  I like just above the knee dresses, summer days, really good bronzer, and freshly shaved legs.  But I pride myself on being that tough girl who likes old sweat pants, rubber boots, unwashed hair, and getting dirty while pushing a rusty chuckwagon in the pouring rain.  Despite what I look like and what I like to pretend I am, I am still just a girl. 

The kind who holds back the stinging tears even when she's alone. 

The kind who falls for stuff and people so hard that it almost always causes pain (this includes ice cream and men).

I have been reading this book, "Why Men Love Bitches", bought for me my a very good friend who sees my constant struggle with boundaries.  I really try to work the principles in the book, just like I do with my blue book that so rigorously outlines how I need to live, but it's hard.  I am that nice girl that goes out of her way to make people happy, that says exactly how she is feeling, that pays for dinner, and that often gets wound up so tight that she inevitably snaps.

I slept with someone and it was different.  Or maybe I was different.  That's it.  It took me a very long time to get even close to overcome my issues regarding the opposite sex.  The need to consistently please or fear being left has haunted me for years.  When I was with this person (C, for generic sake), I didn't feel that need.  Unfortunately, despite every effort to convince myself it was nothing and I could compartmentalize the sex and the feelings and lock the feelings away, I couldn't do it.  It wasn't long before I felt the barrier around my heart start to crumble and I began to have "insane" thoughts like, "I want to hold his hand" and "I wonder if he would have a three B Saturday this weekend!?" 

And then it happened again.  Same person.  Slightly different circumstances.  Even better sex.  Well, give me that euphoric feeling of acceptance and I don't even consider leaving in the middle of night, and I am pretty much hooked.  Half smiles, random flashes of lame things like the color of his eyes and how I catch him looking at me in public.  I was like a fish that is almost caught - squirming uncomfortably, knowing full well that if I pull off, I hurt, and certain if I stay hooked I become dinner. 

Thank God for fear. 

Fear kept me grounded today.  Fear said, "told ya so," when he told me tonight that I'm "awesome" but we need to "cool it for a bit."  Sadly I know that my fear is an excuse.  The fear that I carried with me today that I would be rejected was real; but using fear as a cop out knowledge based excuse is bullshit.  It hurts to be rejected.  Even by someone you were only with twice.  Hurt is a feeling.  Fear is the brains way of dodging that bullet that results in tears creeping out the sides of my eyes and chain smoking until 1am.

I like to be the girl that can go from hurt to acceptance in 3 seconds, or at least I like to pretend to be.  I am smart.  I can work my way through my part pretty quickly and make my hurt a direct result of how I was selfish/insecure/lustful.  But what if part of the solution is getting there.  What if I am supposed to sit back and cry for a minute and feel that rejection?  I don't feel resentment, truthfully.  I trust C a lot after knowing him for a few months and know his reasons for pulling away are valid and I believe he feels like an ass as he claims to.  And I don't even resent myself in the situation.  I hurt.  And that is okay right?  To like someone for a while, and break all the rules in the book about when to text and what to say and what to do and when to have sex, well that makes me human - which is also okay.

I'm usually the girl who acts tough and says the right thing to bandaid feelings and stop the first awkward tear from falling, but tonight I am going to be me instead.  I am going to hug my pillow and maybe cry because getting pushed away brings a lot of feelings to the surface for me.  Tonight I am going to embrace my inner awkward, hurt, kind of scared little girl, and hopefully wake up tomorrow morning and find a renewed sense of purpose.  And if it doesn't come right away, that is okay too.  I think tears are like sleep, we don't get enough and we need them to grow.

Hope is the fire that burns the brightest

I sat at the beach yesterday with a friend who shared with me his zest for life.  We exchanged light conversation about the pros of being single; the freedom to eat what we want, sleep when we want, and watch whichever baseball team we want on TV.  His total confidence in the subject of love and what it means, even when single, gave my relationship status virtue.

I went to a wedding yesterday.  There was a 13 year old girl there (the daughter of the groom) who made a speech so eloquent about love that everyone in the room was moved to tears.  The true definition of love rang from her lips so crystal clear that it made my knowledge of the subject seem utterly inadequate.  The bold observation that one soul without its mate is incomplete, made me question my earlier acceptance.

I carried on a flirty text message conversation in between dreams last night that made me wake up with a smirk on my face so sly that even the Tim Hortons employee seemed to know I had a secret.  I peered eagerly into the future of what was to come of that.

I sat at a meeting today and listened to lady share about her growing pain at 10 years sober- the discovery that she was willing and capable of giving love but terribly afraid of receiving love.  I questioned again what is to come and how do I really feel?

Lately I feel as if I bought a plane ticket to destination that I never seem to arrive at.  I looked boldly into the future when I met C earlier in the year and expected a brief lustful rendezvous; when that expectation failed me, I leaned on the friendship pillar and prayed endlessly for acceptance of that.  Today I over analyze every comment, every text, and every gaze.  I dare to state that I usually know what is coming, because I always have.

When I was with X, I knew what to expect when we got back together.  I knew how the fights would unfold, how the sex would go, and what we would eat for breakfast on Saturday mornings.

I am confused.  I don’t know what is coming, the hopeful side of me finds that very exciting.  The fearful side of me finds that very terrifying.  C is more complex than I ever expected him to be.  I have exhausted all efforts of giggling and even tried the not giggling game.  I am not sure if it is the pursuit of a challenge that makes this so tempting or if it is truly feelings based. 

The power struggle between my ego and God has not allowed me to put C’s name on a piece of paper and turn it over.  Or maybe literally I would, but symbolically I know I can’t.  I can see this plane I am on landing and it won’t be gentle.  I will wake up one day with the ultimate feeling of rejection heavy on my heart and I will hurt.  I will tap into the heart shattering pain I felt the first few times X left.  The crash landing I am setting my heart up for is going to rattle me, but maybe riding this plane is the only thing I can do right now.  I have always been told that “life is a journey, not a destination.” 

But the same author wrote “People destined to meet will do so, apparently by chance, at precisely the right moment.”  So maybe, just for today, I will hold onto hope.

The Friend Zone

It has been a very long time since I blogged, but I have a serious, possibly life altering issue on my hands and suspect that sharing it with the cyber world will not only lessen the burden, but possibly allow me find peace with it.  Maybe?

The Friend Zone.  That Bermuda triangle of awkwardness where crushes go to die.  The Seven Minutes in Heaven that you spend playing rock paper scissors.  The “oh my God he is going to kiss me” moment, that is really just a “I have lettuce on my face and he is staring at it” moment.  The Friend Zone is horrible!  Have you been there?  How long did you stay?  What brought you there?  If you are curious about it, don’t be, it is terrible.  Definitely the worst place I have ever spent time.

I am not an expert in this field, but from my experience I think these are some of the reasons I have ended up in the friend zone: I like baseball, I can swear and it sounds natural, I don’t like to do my hair, I would rather be in Nike Frees than heels, I enjoy golf on TV, when someone asks what time it is I often reply “two freckles past a hair”, I would rather lift weights than go to Zumba, hamburgers are my favourite food, and lastly – I am not afraid to call you on your nonsense.

Here are some of the things I have tried to reverse the effects of the above: wearing fake eyelashes, giggling, going on girls trips, buying lip gloss (haven’t remembered to put it on yet), not following the playoffs, talking about myself endlessly, not mentioning that I can do all my own automobile work, taking inappropriate selfies, and wearing short dresses.

The end result is I have spent money on things I don’t want when I could have bought new Nikes, my IQ has dropped from laughing at guys jokes when they aren’t funny, and I have a cell phone full of pictures that even Paris Hilton would be ashamed of.

A couple months ago when the realization hit me that I had been friend zoned by someone I actually liked for real reasons (not the normal ones like, “he’s so mean!” or “he is so hot!” or the worst, “he is so good on paper!”), I drove out to High River.  That half hour drive offers solitude, excessive smoking, and my Dad to talk to upon arrival.  When I shared my woos with him he simply told me, in a bit of a drunken slur, “Krist-e-oni, you are born alone, and you die alone, so fuck em and be happy with you.”  It didn’t take away that hurt I felt from being friend zoned by “C” but it put things into perspective.

I see C more than I would like to, and I talk to him more than I should; I am not mature enough to turn off crush mode and turn on friend mode so I sit in the middle, balancing on a beam called “Lack of Acceptance” and hope that my patience and pathetic giggling (which has turned into an uncontrollable thing) pays off one day.  My defeat in the relationship area is not proving to be as frustrating as it once was, in fact last night I watched baseball, hockey, and ate a burger after spending 90 minutes killing myself at the gym…and no, I didn’t even wash my hair. 

The friend zone sucks, in fact it can be kind of lonely, but the only place worse is the place of self-doubt when you change everything about yourself for one person…who probably won’t even notice.  So go do your thing, “fuck em” as my Dad says.