Why I'm single...

Because I want to be.  Because it would take a a VERY special person to make it worth not being single.

Because I'm busy and full.  I love my work, and I work hard at it, it's demanding, and that's OK. I have friends and fun and family, and they all fill me up.

Because I'm a mom.  She gives me lots of meaning.  Not all meaning, of course.  I have little privacy.  And very little room to take care of me, which I do when I can, and that's always primordial and lovely.

Because I'm strong and independent.  I like being a free agent. I sometimes can't imagine the space to cultivate and tend a relationship. I've struggled with the idea of "reporting" and being accountable to someone else.

Because I focused on men for too long.  This seems ridiculous to me right now.  But ok, no beating myself up and no regrets. I'm on a journey. It's a beautiful one.

Because I'm ok with vulnerability, but not very good at it.

I [HEART] blogging

So, I was thinking the other day how much I personally enjoy blogging.  Whether I have any readers, or not; whether they agree with what I have to say, or not; whether I have anything interesting to say (to others besides myself), or not.

Perhaps it is a narcissistic exercise.  Perhaps it is a lot of hot air.

However, what I enjoy is the creative outlet it provides me to write.  I do love to write (whether I'm any good, or not), and I love words.  I have sought such an outlet for many years, something that would get me out of the scope of strategy memos for work and emotional purges in a journal.  I've considered taking a creative writing class many times - but can't commit the time, let alone take the pressure to produce on deadline or for scrutiny.  This blogging outlet allows me to write short, polished, published pieces about things I care about and ponder over with absolutely no pressure to produce.

It has been therapeutic (like my swimming regimen) to have this creative outlet away from my real life and responsibilities (though it does reflect those real life responsibilities). It allows me to consider my life and my world (and aren't we all the center of our own universe?) with some distance, perspective, and sometime humor (or not) as an "observer" - maybe even a clearer sense of self.  I enjoy writing from this Nouvelle Observatrice "alter ego" - who I would be and who I am, if I did not have real life responsibilities, obligations, and stress - a  traveler, a lover, a foodie, an amateur connoisseur of art, design, politics, people and culture). Admittedly, I enjoy reading my own blog sometimes, and remembering the experiences and seeing from whence I've come.

I choose to keep this blog publicly un-linked to my real name because I do have real life obligations, responsibilities, and a "public" work life - and I wish to keep them separate from this.   I have shared my blog with people who are not within that sphere.  And if a reader should stumble here, I would be easily recognized by someone with whom I'm acquainted (something for which I suppose I should be prepared if it were to happen at the wrong time or in the wrong way).  Then again, should that happen, I would not hide from who I am or what I've said.

All that said, when I re-read my blog, it seems like I'm a lot more "balanced" than I actually am, more "balanced" than I actually feel.  I certainly have fucked up my life as much (and as little) as anybody.  I have some regrets; and I have some points of pride.  I am not all that I can and could be. These days I'm working on being my true self (warts and all)  and acceptance - of me, of others - on all the rest, which just might be a taller order than all that striving for perfection/self-flagellation shit I'm used to.

Charmed, I'm sure

This evening, at the invitation of Amal, I took a short trip, 26 miles up the coast to the ancient city of Byblos.  There, we strolled in the souk - the labyrinth, lantern-lit streets, quiet and empty. Later, past the Citadel, my footsteps echoed on the cobblestones of the still and silent courtyard of the mediaeval Church of St. John.  Wandering down to the small port, blue and white fishing boats were docked for the night in the protected harbor.  Walking out and looking back from the jetty, the lights of the seaside restaurants, nestled into the hillside, glowed from the mainland.  Then, as we climbed the winding, narrow road of blind corners, my French phrases of delight, curiosity and observation were interspersed with my slight breathlessness.    A shrine was set back along a path just in sight of the road.  There, an ages-old shelter housed a statue of the Virgin Mary lit by the candles left behind by her pilgrims.  Two simple wooden benches provided a moment of meditation, mindfulness and prayer.

At several times over the hours, I had to pinch myself.  I'm in Byblos.  In Lebanon.  This is my charmed life, as if I had a genie in a bottle.

Ladies' Lunch in 3 Acts (and one seduction)

Scene: La Plage restaurant
On La Corniche, in Beirut, overlooking the Mediterranean Sea

















Characters: Seven women
5 Lebanese, 1 Eritrean, 1 American; ages 24 to 75

















Act I: Eight+ mezze 
Hommos, moutabaal, fatoush, halloumi, kibbeh, and more

Act II: A giant platter of brochettes 
Lamb, chicken, kibbeh with french fries

Act III: Two extravagant desserts
Ice cream with cotton candy, and crushed pistachios

Our protagonist with hookah pipe

La femme fatale 
Amal (purple) kept winking at me

India morning

I'm not much into travel journaling, it's all become rote to me, as I land in another place yet again. But if I'm blogging, it seems I should comment on where and how I am.

In general, when I travel, I find myself much more aware, more alert. My mind and senses are stimulated. I am turned on.

When landing in Delhi, my pick-up driver did not arrive, so I mobilized myself into a pre-paid "black and yellow" taxi. Immediately, I felt the surge that has become so familiar when I land in a new and different place. The more "foreign," the better. Chaos, beeping, mad traffic, insane driving...the loud humming motor of the puttering bumblebee taxi. Adrenaline.

But this morning, much more peaceful here at the Global Arts Village. There is 6am "dynamic meditation" which I missed, but heard the drumming and the whooping, later followed by sitar music. I showered in my lovely, tiled - saffron and cobalt - bathroom, the warm water washing away the dirt and fatigue of travel. So nice to let the warm water wash over my naked body - again a function of the sensuous nature of travel. I never feel the warm water wash over my naked body when I'm home. Fresh and dressed, I went out in the early 7am mist to sit in the thatched hut with my earthenware mug of (Starbucks Via) instant coffee (yes, I get the irony). For a few moments, I felt very, very present - maybe 15 minutes or so. I heard the birds and the plane overhead, saw - really saw - the magnolia tree, and watched the still, still water. The coffee tasted very, very good - rich and warm - and I felt it enter my bloodstream with a soft energizing buzz to my tired jet-lagged body. The earthenware cup was warm, I felt the heat transfer to my hands.

It was such a lovely, quiet, present moment. So rare, so cherished. To be sought - consciously - more often.