Directions

Directions

Ever had a destination, a goal, an objective, or something that needed to get done or somewhere you needed to be in life?  I can tell you won’t arrive by accident, it won’t happen on its own power, and I still haven’t figured out how to teleport like Harry Potter, so more than likely neither have you. No, the only way we can get to a particular goal/destination is directions.  We need directions. We need a road-map to the destination of our goals. 

I like to think of myself somewhat a gypsy, but that’s only wishful thinking.  I’m strategic, analytical, observant, scientific, and rational.  My free spirit I leave to my painting, but even in that – it’s still organized, planned, and executed.  Okay, I take it back. I’m NOTHING like a gypsy.   

I have goals. If this damned pandemic doesn’t kill me, there’s still a lot of things left that I want to do, and the only way I know how to get them done, the only way that I’ve achieved the goals and destinations before this – was to make a plan and then carefully map out the directions to achieve the end goal. 

So, I think it’s time I start making those plans again.  My problem isn’t that I don’t have any dreams, any plans, any wants, or any destinations, but that I have too many and need to make a decision and narrow them down. 

It’s time.

One of those goals – is get back to this blog. 

Here we go – step one – I blogged today.

Next direction in my goal for blogging – blog tomorrow. 

Until tomorrow,

~T.L. Gray

Thr Terminal List by Jack Carr Review

It’s been a while since I’ve written a book review. Hell, it’s been a while since I’ve read a whole book, at least a fiction novel. Life has taken a lot of different turns, but it’s like riding a bike.  I don’t really want to say that, because I can’t really describe what it’s been like, but it sure as hell hasn’t been anything like a bike. Don’t get me wrong, I love my bike, and I love riding it, but reading and writing – well, that’s a whole different experience. I’ve just needed the right inspiration to get me back in the seat – and I found it in The Terminal List by Jack Carr.

I’m not going to give this review to you all at once, because I want to do it justice. I’m going to give it to you in pieces – today being the first.

I initially heard of Jack Carr on Jocko Willink’s podcast talking about his upcoming 2nd book, True Believer.
Dating a former Navy SEAL had sparked my interest in SEALs and that’s how I stumbled upon the podcast. I was familiar with Special Forces and Armed Forces, but I can honestly say I didn’t know much, if anything at all, about Navy SEALS. To be honest, I didn’t know much about the Navy period. I just thought they mostly rode in ships and submarines, perhaps deeming them the least active and least dangerous jobs in the military.  Well, my eyes have been opened, I was as wrong as one could get, and I’m in ‘shock and awe’, especially when it comes to Navy SEALs.  Holy smokes! These guys are badass!  I mean, they are the real deal, the real commandos, the real men of valor and honor that to me are superheroes made of steel.  If you’ve read of any my blogs over any period of time then you know I’m a huge superhero nerd.  For me, Army Ranger’s used to be my military heroes, but they don’t top my list anymore.

Getting back to the book, The Terminal List by Jack Carr.  Even though I had developed this GREAT love and admiration for SEALs, I feared this book. I honestly thought it would be somewhat regimental, just a bunch of facts, details, and plot points put to the page, however listening to the way Jocko Willink read an excerpt (by the way – that man and his deep, smooth voice can read ANYTHING of mine), I was intrigued.  Then listening to Jack Carr tell his story, I could tell this man knew how to tell a story, stay on point, keep his threads together, and then circle back around to tie all the loose ends in a nice little bow. That gave me a little bit more hope that he’d be able to do the same in his writing …and I was not wrong.

Spoilers from this point forward:

The Terminal List begins with our main character, Lieutenant Commander James Reece, on a mission that never felt right with him, and in his gut knew was wrong in more ways than one, knew it went against his instincts and every bit of training and experience he has had on the SEAL teams, yet he was given an order from a higher authority.  He was almost home, he was almost out, just one more to go, and so he followed command.

That aspect right there grabbed me, because I can’t tell you how many times I ignored that gut feeling only to regret it later. I’m learning more and more to listen to it and heed it’s warning, because it’s never been wrong. I could tell I was already invested in this story because inside I was screaming, “Don’t do it! Listen to your gut! This is going to be a shit show!” Of course, I then reminded myself I was reading a book and you can’t have a story without conflict, so I sighed and said, “Ah, hell …bring it on.” Carr did NOT disappoint.  He brought the action. He brought the terminal velocity of a shit storm that played on every fear I would imagine any SEAL team leader would have – losing his whole team because of a decision he made, and him the only one to survive.  Talk about Survivor’s Guilt. Talk about Ownership. I was almost in tears just trying to wrap my head around the concept, but Jack Carr let me feel those emotions, but not for too long before he went and slapped me upside the head and pierce my heart with a double-whammy. 

Listen, teammates on a SEAL team are closer than family, they are brothers in arms, in heart, and in soul.  This character just lost his brothers, his team, his career, and pretty much any self-respect that he had for himself, and he hasn’t even had time to grieve, to accept it when Carr then has his wife, daughter and unborn son murdered.  Okay, I’m almost tearing up writing this.  SEALs are made of steel, but they’re not made of stone.  SEALs are the baddest warriors on this planet and they severely protect what they love – their country, their teammates and their families.  This warrior failed to protect them all – h…h…h…h…o…o…o…l…l…l…y…y…y… shit! Talk about stripping EVERYTHING from a man, down to his naked soul, and humiliating him in every imaginable way – that’s what this means.  I’m beginning to suspect Jack Carr is one sadistic asshole by this point to even be able to imagine enough to write it down in detail, but I have to think these are probably a SEALs worst fears. 

That’s what makes this story so much more than your typical thriller, because Jack Carr isn’t just writing about a hero that he made up in his head, a fantasy. He is a SEAL.  He is the real deal, so though he’s writing in this fictional format, there is a lot of truth, a lot of experience, a lot of authentic feelings, fears, and actions to draw from; he bleeds onto the page.  He doesn’t have to imagine it – he knows it.  And I think THAT fact is what made it even more of a journey for me.

Continuing … Reece loses his Team, and now his family, and his career …but he doesn’t stop being the intelligent, resourceful, master of all trades operator he’s been for the last couple decades, and fueled by his pain he begins putting the pieces together and starts seeking the answers to the question of WHY this happened to him and who is responsible.  He starts gathering the names for his Terminal List.

So, being the narcissistic asshole that I am … I’m going to stop the first segment of this review right here.  You will have to come back tomorrow to see what happens next - or you can go buy this awesome book, The Terminal List by Jack Carr, and read it for yourself.

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

YOLO!

Yep.  I don’t know why it comes as a surprise for some people, but you really ONLY get ONE life.  Yeah, yeah, I know… some of you believe in reincarnation, life after death, transformation, transcendentalism, etc… all those other “possible” conclusions.  But, I’m not talking about those right now. I’m talking about the 50-100 meager years we get to walk on this planet.  Well, some of us crawl, some of us run, some of us spend it on our backs, while others spend it on our knees, but you know what I mean.  One life.

So, let me ask you… what are you doing with your life? Are you even living it, or are you just existing? Do you just go through the motions, or do take charge and move through the universe experiencing everything you can while you can?

People, we get one shot at it.  Just one. 

There have been some low times in my life where I wanted to end it, when the pain was too much to bear and I just wanted it all to stop. Abuse. Cancer. Death of a love. Divorce. Break up with a soul mate. Times I’ve felt so lonely, so lost, so unwanted, so unloved, so rejected, so unnecessary, that I just ached inside. Of course, my love for myself, for my family, for my friends, and for life itself always stayed my hand during those low points, but I’ve been there.

There have been some high times in my life where I never wanted to end, ones I wished to live over, and over, and over again.  A kiss that melted me from the inside out. A touch that still gives me butterflies today. A hug that felt like it held together all my broken pieces.  A moment of my hard work being recognized. The birth of my children, holding them for the first time. Laughing so hard I peed myself. Jumping from 2.5 miles in the air.  Racing down white rapids. Watching an ant meander through the grass and meeting God. Writing. Playing my guitar. Kicking alien ass on my Xbox.

Life. A series of moments.  Good moments. Bad moments. Loud moments. Quiet moments.  I’ve lived a lot of moments. I’m not guaranteed one more.  So, I want to make them count.  Love the people in my life.  Live my life being happy. Loving and being loved. Discovering and being adventurous.

I can’t imagine trying to numb my life with hate, drugs, alcohol, or behind a thick wall never letting anyone in, or with condescending judgment.  It’s not always going to be sunshine and roses, and there are still dark days and dark moments ahead, but there’s always good moments, and bright moments, and life and love. 

Be silly. Laugh. Take a chance. Jump. Kiss the girl (life).  Dance. Dream. Sing. Touch. Smell. Stop hiding. Stop running away. Throw your hands into the air and let it go.  It’s your choice. No one else to blame but yourself if you’re too coward to embrace life.  For fuck’s sake… SMILE!

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Precious

I love to cook.  I love the taste, the smell, and the texture of food.  I used to hate it because of how I abused it and used it to try and fill an emptiness inside me.  Food never worked.  That hole remained, but I had this huge body that I tried to use to also fill that emptiness, at the same time as a barrier to keep others out.  I couldn’t be filled, but I did succeed at keeping people out.

In truth, I checked out.  I checked out of my life and spent most of my time fulfilling the needs, wants, and demands of others, while hiding within myself.  I narrowed my world as my body expanded.  I snacked on everything I could find and sabotaged any diet I had tried.  Not purposefully, but subconsciously.  I was too much of a coward to quickly kill myself, so I was doing it slowly.

On the outside, people wouldn’t know about the pain and shame I carried.  I really needed help, but having been a survivor I learned to wear my mask so well, no one could see I needed help – I couldn’t even see it.  I remember that it was a daily thought to just drive into a tree, off a bridge, into oncoming traffic – just to make it all stop.  The daily rejection.  I felt like I let my children down, myself down, my church down, God down.  I could never do enough, be enough, I was disappointment – so I pushed harder and harder.  I worked and worked and worked – became excellent in my profession, a leader in my church, a cheerleader to my children. I searched for that love and acceptance from others (husband, church, children, family, friends) so I could love myself.  It doesn’t work that way.

We are fools to believe success, money, titles, or even love and affection and acceptance from other people will make us happy, make us love ourselves – and then expect that love to make us better.  NONE of it will satisfy, just like that food.  It may appease for a moment, but just as soon as the digestion process starts, the hunger pains return.  It’s a destructive cycle.

Oh, how far I’ve come in the last few years.  I’m not even the same person – literally half the size, but THAT isn’t my greatest accomplishment.  My journey started with a suicidal thought.  I was so ashamed.  One of my children had run away from home and I had nightmares worrying for her safety, her well-being not knowing if she was dead or alive.  I felt like such a failure as a parent.  I had done all the right things, followed all the rules, said my prayers, but none of it mattered.  No matter what I did – I couldn’t stop the bad things from happening.  I thought the abuse I had suffered as a child was horrible, but it didn’t compare to being a parent worrying over a child and feeling you had failed them, and failed God.  I was certain these things happened because I wasn’t good enough, didn’t pray good enough, didn’t obey enough, didn’t please my husband enough, so I just wanted to die.

I had a dream I was standing on a stage and it was dark, but I could hear the sound of many voices and knew there was a vast audience.  I stood beneath a single spotlight with my head down, because the light hurt my eyes.  I heard a voice call my name and tell me to lift my head, but I said I too ashamed. I didn’t want the people to see me.  Again the voice called my name and told me to lift my head.  

The voice in the darkness that filled the room, spoke softly, but loudly in front of the vast audience and said, “You are precious.”  Just those simple words felt so heavy, so alien.  I shook my head vigorously and cried, “No, I’m nobody.” Again the voice said, “You are precious.  I have put my words into your mouth and have written them into the palm of your hands.” I fell to my knees and cried out, “No, I’m not worthy. I’m nobody. Nobody wants me.” The house lights came up and all I could see was a sea of people and they were cheering for me.  I turned and a man stood beside me and I asked him, “I don’t understand.” He answered me.  “You are precious.  Open your eyes and see.  Open your ears and hear.”

I looked down at my hands and they were the hands of a dead and rotting person, but the flesh started to change, became healthy and younger looking.  My body slimmed, I become stronger, my hair became longer and I felt beautiful, vibrant, full of life.  The room filled with music and golden words, thousands upon thousands of them, swirled in the air.

I’d like to say I woke from that dream with a new lease on life and a new revelation, but I didn’t.  It only confused me, but one thing did change.  Not very noticeable at first – but looking back I can see now they were the beginning steps.  I did a teaching on how people treated you when you presented yourself in a different way – by me wearing a tiara everywhere I went.  The next teaching was about women who were unloved by their husbands.  Then I did a teaching on loving yourself.  These three teachings changed my life.  Because that’s exactly what I started doing – I started loving myself, recognizing who I was and what I wanted in life and in a partner, and how I saw myself.

It’s been a VERY, very long road, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m not going to say it’s been filled with one GREAT triumph after the next.  On the contrary… it’s been scary as hell and filled with so much uncertainty and whole lot of loneliness.   I’m not done with this journey – I’ve really only just begun.  But for the first time in my whole life, I’m happy.  I love me. I love my life. I love my body.  I love my mind. I love my heart.  I’m precious.  I know that someday someone else is going to love me – but I don’t need them.  If I ever let someone in, it will be because I simply want them.

I also have learned to love food.  Food is not my enemy - I was my enemy.  I’ve learned to moderate, to cook well, to have fun, and enjoy my food.  The picture with the blog post shows I’ve turned cooking into an art and eating into a pleasure.  I’m healthy. I’m strong. I’m beautiful.  Somehow I’ve transformed into that woman I saw in my dreams a few years ago.  I’m so proud of her and I love her dearly.  She’s precious.

Till next time,
Precious

Author T.L. Gray - AuthorsInterviews

Here is a link to my latest interview.  Check it out:

http://authorsinterviews.wordpress.com/2014/08/28/here-is-my-interview-with-t-l-gray/

Brain Malfunction

I was sick yesterday.  Around 4am I woke up shivering from a high fever, but I didn’t feel terribly bad …unless I sat up, moved, or tried to eat. But just quietly lying in my bed or on the couch watching television, I felt relatively okay.

Hoping to take advantage of a day at home, I reveled at the thought I could get some writing done, so I opened my laptop and sat in an upright position on my couch.  As the page loaded, I tried to remember at which point I had left off in my novel, but couldn’t really string two full sentences together.  I was drawing blanks.  Just when I thought I had the last scene, I’d remember I’d already covered that point and started a fresh search.  By the time my document loaded, I felt my eyes growing heavy and my head spinning.

I thought, maybe if I fluffed some pillows and lay half-way down I’d be able to function.  I’m sure you realize how well that went.

I once again tried to open my document, but my laptop felt like it weighed 20lbs instead of 2.  While sitting in my lap, my computer felt constricting, like it was holding my legs down and refusing to let me move, which of course now I had the urgent sensation to move them.  I had a strong desire to free them from beneath the covers and release them from their bondage.  So, I stood up, but gravity had a different plan for me and decided that I should make a really close inspection of the floor.  It’s a good thing I cleaned it recently.  The floor turned out just fine.

This time I lay completely down on the couch and rolled onto my side, pulling my laptop near me.  Everyone knows you can’t type with both hands while you’re on your side and I wasn’t about to write tapping in the keys one letter at a time.  So, with a huff and a growl, I closed the document and opened my email.  At least I would get something  done and not feel completely useless if I could answer a few emails.  I wish I had just closed the laptop.

Needless to say, after a few minutes the laptop sat for the rest of the day on my coffee table… while I drifted in and out of delirium watching a couple series on Starz.  What bits and pieces I caught of Black Flag and Overland, I was really impressed and hope to watch more episodes in the future.  My television viewing habits are scattered at best – I just don’t really have time to watch television. It’s come to the point where what I know of what’s going on is what I catch subconsciously as it often plays in the background.

This morning I feel better, at least I can sit in an upright position, and hope to be very productive on all the work I missed the day before.  I’d love to be able to laugh today, so those of you that control the powers that be – send me some good laughs and bits of humor.  I’ve learned that when I’m sick …my brain malfunctions.  It doesn’t want to work.  It doesn’t want to write.  It doesn’t want to be creative, or decisive, or inventive, or studious… just relaxed. Maybe I can learn something from my brains rebellion. Maybe not.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

The Flight

The New Bachelorette: Dating After 40 - Opposites Attract

Wow, this journey into twenty-first century dating over 40 is really opening my eyes to a lot of things I wish I’ve never seen, but then again, every experience enriches my life in some way, whether I like it or not.

I’m really learning a lot about myself and the things I like, want, don’t like, and definitely don’t want in my life.  Some of these things really shock me and other things I could have seen coming a mile away. So, today I hope I will have some of you shake your head, while others will have your eyeballs widen in disbelief.

Sometimes in this dating game, well almost all of the time, I’m clueless.  I know how to be married, how to be committed, how to be selfless, and how to put the needs and wants of others before me.  That’s how I’ve lived my whole life.  Being single is the total opposite of all that, so I’m often clueless, miss hints, don’t understand many of the terms used in today’s dating realm, and signals ... it’s like I’m still using smoke while the rest of the world has moved onto 1’s and 0’s.  I hope I can find a balance.

You’ve heard the old adage, ‘Opposites Attract’?  My first instinct is to say, “bullshit” but I’m finding that there are certain opposites I find attractive.  Case in point – all the guys I really want to date are guys who’ve been dating, serially, for years -  not guys who’ve been in committed relationships.  While I eventually want a commitment, I’m not in a hurry.  I’ve just come out of a huge commitment.  I’m not looking to get hitched again. I’m not looking for a husband.  I want a partner.  I want someone to go on adventures, experience life, explore the world with me… as-I’m-doing-it. I’m not looking for someone to complete me, but compliment me, and to whom I can be a compliment. I don’t want middle-class, raising a family, pursuing a demanding career kind of life.  I’ve been there, done that, and the tee-shirt is worn out.  It has fond memories, but the time has come to put it away.

I do everything bass ackwards.  When I was young, beautiful, and energetic, that was the time to explore the world and take on wild adventures.  Instead I took care of a family, and then raised one of my own, chased an education and a career, and have since walked away from it all.  Most of the guys my age are in the former state, while I’m in the latter.  In this instance, the opposite wouldn’t attract.

I think it’s quite pathetic when 50 year-old men are JUST NOW wanting to start a family so they try to find themselves a young 20 or 30-something year-old child to marry.  But what other choice do they have? 40 and 50 year-old women are past child bearing age.  I’m pretty sure I’m going to get some stiff feedback for this statement… but I think it’s ridiculous and quite unfair to the women, both the younger and older.

I can hear the older men say (because I’ve already heard them say it), “It’s fair because I can provide a luxurious lifestyle and a comfortable living for the young woman because I’m financially secure.  I can offer her experience in love-making (yeah, you pervert –it’s because you want that young, fit body instead of appreciating the beauty of an older woman’s body), life, and save her a bunch of trouble.”  Give me a f’ing break.  I’m sure there are young women, mostly damaged women with daddy issues (*raises hand in the air), who find it appealing for an older man to take care of her basic needs and be able to teach her about life because God-forbid she actually experiences and learns anything for herself (I hope you caught the sarcasm).  Isn’t the point of life to get out there and learn about it as you go? What happened to the older women who stood beside these older men as they were making their way in this world?  Most likely she gets tossed aside for the younger, child-bearing, unexperienced girl?  Fuck that.

Needless to say, those are often the first thoughts that run through my mind (I admit – I could be wrong) when I get hit on (because I look younger than my 43 years) by 50-60 year-old men when they tell me they’re looking for a wife and want to start a family.  I’m getting ready for grandchildren (kids – if you’re reading this…hopefully not for a few more years).  In these older men’s faces I can also see the future of the younger men (25-35) who also hit on me.  Those young men express how at this time they either don’t want a family, or is something they’d want to pursue at a later time  - when they get in their late 40’s or 50’s,  and are now just looking for that adventure partner – like me, that older woman they can have fun with – but don’t have to commit. While the thought of being a Cougar is quite appealing (what woman in her right mind wouldn’t fantasize about a hot, fit, sexy young man with lots and lots of stamina while she’s going through the hormonal changes of menopause and her libido is through the roof…what was I talking about, again?  Oh, yeah… partners), it’s just a heart-break waiting to happen.  When he does grow up and finally want that family, the cougar isn’t a viable option. While men can often sow their seed until the day they die, women have to compartmentalize that part of their lives because they are on a biological clock.

Just because we women in our 40’s are older, it doesn’t mean we can’t fall in love, or don’t want to fall in love, and be loved just like we did when we were 16.  I think men, both young and old,  forget that. Just because we’re more refined, smarter, experienced, know how to compose ourselves, independent, and classy, it doesn’t mean we’re not also spontaneous, crazy, wild, freaky, and still have that young romantic girl inside us.   In a way, we’re all cougars – because I’m always looking for that playful, horny, sexy, crazy young man inside every mature man I meet.

 So, do opposites attract?  Of course they do.  There’s something inside all of us that wants what’s different.  But, sometimes it’s not prudent when the opposites are just a little too far apart.  That’s why I think it’s important to know what you want, to know what works best with you, what traits about your partner will enrich your life.  Love – real love – can override any rule, even those of age, race, social status, culture, etc.  But, you should always be honest when it comes to those opposites to know which ones will work for you.

Here’s six traits and qualities about myself and what I want.  I’d want someone that could work with these particular things, because in the end – balance is the key.

· Age – 33-53 (I’m not interested in being a Sugar Mama or a Nurse Maid), but I can work within this age range.  It’s ten below and ten above, anything more is just asking for unmerited difficulty, sacrifice, and heartbreak.  Balance is key… remember?

· Race/Relations – I’m open to all races.  I find beauty in all shades.  The only color I’m concerned with is the color of the heart. I’m not a racist, but I’m extremely prejudiced.  I don’t like racists and will never be with one, I don’t care what our ancestors have done in the past – I’ve got relatives on both sides of every issue. I wasn’t there, it wasn’t me, and if everyone looked hard enough we can all find tragic and horrible stories in each of our family histories.  Holding onto the hate of past wrongs only produces more hate, and we all know two wrongs don’t make things right.  I don’t like bigots and could never be in a relationship with someone who carries around so much hatred and resentment toward other human beings.  I also don’t like hippy/pacifists who don’t live in the real world – one filled with evil people and evil acts and sometime harsh decisions need to be made to stop them.  Free love flowers don’t mean shit when  you’re trying to protect those you love.  I don’t like thugs, enablers, punks, perverts, pedophiles, players, cheaters, liars and thieves. No one is perfect, but some of us are really, really, really fucked up.

· Wealth – I’m independent and don’t need the support of anyone else.  I’m not rich, but I’m not desperate.  However, if you can’t manage your money and are in debt up to your eyeballs, or you’re extremely wealthy and used to buying everything, including the people in your life – it’s not going to work with me.  I won’t enable you and your bad habits, nor will I become your possession.   I’m looking for love, connection, a relationship – not to be taken care of or to take care of someone else.  I’ve had money, and I’ve been dirt poor.  Money is important, but I’m a very simple girl and that’s not just a phrase.  I’m the least materialistic person I know. I hate shopping, I like costume jewelry, I’m most comfortable in cargo pants, tee-shirts and hiking boots, I only buy what I need, and would rather spend my money on filling my life with adventures and good food, and not stuff.  I don’t need a big house, a fancy car, or diamonds and pearls. I don’t give a shit about social status and I’m not going to run away and join a commune and live off the earth.  I won’t stand in political rallies or religious gatherings.

· Health – I work hard to be fit, healthy and energetic.  There’s a lot of things I want to do in this world and they require me to be healthy and strong.  I’m not going to want to do these things alone.  While my partner doesn’t have to have a six-pack or walk around with less than 5% body fat, they do have to be physically capable of participating in general activities.  I have nothing against disabilities and I’m not opposed to someone being a bit overweight… but I won’t be with someone that is detrimental to my healthy lifestyle or who is lazy or requires a pharmacy to get through the day.  It’s hard enough to encourage myself.  I’m hoping to find a partner who would inspire and encourage me even more in my quests, not someone who will tempt me or encourage me into an unhealthy lifestyle.  So, if they’re not into eating healthy gourmet food but have to have their Southern-fried meat and potatoes – you’ll go hungry.  If they’re not into regular exercise, or opposed to participating in outdoor activities and exploration– they wouldn’t be good for me. They don’t have to be maniacs and run in marathons, but they do need to be active.

· Sex – I definitely love a strong man, and I’m not talking about physical strength. I like a man of a strong mind, independent thoughts, confidence (that’s the sexiest trait in a man).  However, I want a man in physical shape so we can have great sex. He doesn’t have to be perfect (I’d really like it if he still had some work to do), but his health should be important.  I want a sensual, strong, and sexy man.  I plan to have lots and lots and lots of sex.  He’ll have to be able to physically and emotionally handle that. But sex can’t be the most important thing to him.  His health and happiness should be first. If he’s healthy and happy… the sex will follow.  Also… my heart follows my body… not the other way around.  I’m not interested in being a FWB, or in a casual, polyamorous, or  swinger relationship. I’ve tried to apply those concepts to myself and failed miserably, because it’s just not who I am. I don’t judge those lifestyles, I just happen to be a faithful, monogamous, heterosexual, one-man woman.

· Clever Mind/Sense of Humor – I can’t tolerate ignorance, bigotry, or hate.  I love independent thinking, individuality.  I don’t mind strong opinions, even if they differ from mine, as long as they’re genuine.  I don’t like mouth-pieces, people who only repeat what they’ve heard but have no clue what they’re talking about - repeating party lines, quoting scriptures out of context, or regurgitating talking points.  I hate hypocrites – people on a crusade to make others just like their ideals, yet they themselves don’t follow their own agenda.  I’m a woman of faith, but I’m not religious.  I’m educated and understand the basic elementals of business, politics, and government, but I’m not a mission to save or convert the world.  I just want to be happy. I want to smile. I want to laugh.  I really love a man who can make me giggle, especially with witty, pithy, and clever comments. The stronger original opinions he has, the more I’m impressed.

So, opposite or twin,  this bachelorette over 40 is hoping she’ll find that balanced partner out there someday.  In the meantime, I’m still taking wild adventures, seeking thrills through extreme activities, and making crazy moves on my own.  I’m happy and content with who I am and the life I now live.  It’s taken me a long time to get here, but it’s so worth it. I’ve made lots of mistakes, but I’ve also made lots of great memories and met some really great people.

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

Clarity of Regret

Clarity of Regret

“Just because you do right things, doesn’t mean they’re right.  History determines if you’ve made the right choices, and that great revelation doesn’t come until the end of your life – right before clarity of regret shows you the light.” ~ Titier E. Solano

What I’d like to have right now is clarity of mind.  Have you ever heard something that upon first hearing you felt it had more depth than you currently possessed in order to understand it?  That’s how it was this morning when my friend said the previous words to me.

I consider myself extremely lucky to be surrounded by such wise philosophers.  They’re not all writers, they’re not world famous, but they’re all geniuses and I hold them in the highest regard.  Some respect others for what they can contribute financially, socially, or even emotionally to the world, but I absolutely admire those who possess a great mind, who think beyond the surface, who can touch my soul.  Titles are good.  Ranks are highly respected.  Degrees are admirable.  Introspection and wisdom don’t require any of those things.  

I’ve been moving all week packing boxes, loading boxes, unloading boxes, and then unpacking those same boxes, to either discard or reuse them. I move all those items around and around, looking for the new spot where they now belong.  When I’m doing manual labor, my mind often delves deep within the psyche and I question sometimes even the basics of human truth.  I admire a sexy body, I adore a beautiful smile, but there’s nothing I appreciate more than a clever, wise, and stimulating mind.

A body is just a shell.  It can be changed, manipulated, grow old and wrinkly, or become scarred and damaged.  I could never love someone simply for their flesh.  Yet so much emphasis is put on that outward meat suit. I would say that a majority of our society can’t get passed it, never seeing the beautiful soul beneath it. I sometimes see a beautiful soul long before I see a handsome face.  Perhaps my view is a little different having grown up with disabled parents.  At an early age I was able to see the humanity behind skin and bones – and realize that a person is the soul that wears the flesh, not the flesh itself. It’s a person’s mind and heart that makes decisions, expresses emotions, and to which we truly connect.  Though it is a physical pair of strong arms that I crave and sometimes allow to hold me – the reason it feels so good is because of the soul that chose to wrap those arms around me. I’ve felt the intrusive abuse of an unwanted touch. While I despised the flesh that violated me, it was the soul of my violator I hated most – the source of the choice.

But what of our choices?  Back to the initial quote at the start of this post.  What’s the point of making choices if we don’t know whether those choices are right or wrong until they’ve been proven as such at the end of our life?  If we cannot control the ultimate outcome, why should we then be concerned with our choices at all today?  What seems right today, may at the end of history be proven wrong.  If I can’t truly know, or can’t see the end of it all, why do I sometimes torture myself in worry over making a wrong choice?

You don’t know how many times I’ve let life slip passed me because of indecision – by being too afraid to make a choice. NOTHING happens in indecision.  Fear of mistakes leads to that petrification.  But, I’m learning something very valuable and very liberating – even my mistakes are better than indecision, because even in my mistakes I’m alive, I’m moving, I’m more than just existing.  Mr. Solano responded to my Good Morning World post that ended with ‘I’m at least living’ with, “Many things live …”  I responded, “It’s more than just existing.  To be aware, to move like water in a river is better than stagnation.  It’s purifying and better than a pond – which turns briny, evaporates in the heat, and breeds bitterness.” His response is the quote listed above.  His words stirred my soul this morning.

I learn from mistakes. Yes, my heart has been broken so bad I don’t know if I can ever find all the missing pieces.  It’s left me so marred I’m a pitiful mess full of cracks, and I’ve done the best I can to haphazardly glue myself back together. Not just emotionally, but physically too.  I’ve still got a lot of work to do, but I’ve come a long way.  At times,  I’m so damned scared that another fall will turn these cracked pieces to a fine dust and I’ll just blow away and not a single soul on this earth will care. But being afraid leaves me indecisive.  Indecision leaves me stagnant.  Stagnation slowly kills me.  So what if I make another mistake? So what if I love the wrong person?  So what if I get hurt again?  At least I lived, and moved, and breathed, and felt something.  I’m so afraid to feel because I’ve experienced so much pain.  But, I’m more afraid NOT to feel. Closing off my heart and putting up walls doesn’t protect me… it kills me.   How do I let them down?  I want to blow them up with some dynamite (btw – invented by Alfred Nobel) and carve out a new path of liberation.

I don’t want the clarity of regret to consume me at the end of my life because I filled it with indecisions due to fear, or I sat around and waited for the perfect person or opportunity to come my way.  There is no perfection. What if the imperfect person in front of me is the perfect person for me?  I understand that the things I want may not work out -  that I could lose again, that I’ll fuck up and make a huge mistake, that I’ll get my heart broke again – but at least I’ll also have loved and lived.  Can I walk away and leave everything behind for love?  Yes, I KNOW I can, it’s what I’ve been doing the last couple of years – when the person I fell in love with has been Me.  How much more could I do it for someone else?

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Dear John ...I Mean Adam

Dating is hard.  Those who think it’s a walk in the park, fun, a piece of cake, or the best thing since sliced bread is either starving themselves to fit into that size 4 or else live in a fantasy world.  It’s not that the process is difficult, anything can be figured out and utilized for maximum effect, but the key is working with the right ingredients.  If you haven’t been able to figure out those metaphors by this time, then reading the rest of this post isn’t going to do you any good – it’s going to be full of ‘em.  You might as well stop right now and go read something simple and mindless because that will be more your speed.

I’ve recently read a wonderful “Dear Jane” letter that this arrogant, though slightly good-looking, blogger by the name of Adam Hornyak.  It, at first, made me burst out laughing at the absurdity splattered line after line as he degraded his dates as air-headed bimbos, until I took inventory of some of my fellow female companions currently out on the dating field, and sadly I could see his point.  Mind you, none of it pertained to me, of course, but still… women are not the only bad dates.  I’ve been on several tragic dates over the past few months.  Don’t get me wrong, some have been great, but more bad than good, and even the good obviously wasn’t that good or else I wouldn’t still be single.

Thanks to Hornyak’s example, I’ve been inspired to write my own satirical “Dear John” letter, or perhaps in this case I’ll use, “Dear Adam” and lay out some of my own dating grievances.  This won’t be the only letter, because there’s plenty of things I would like to address in future posts.  I’ll only tackle a few tonight and more over the weeks ahead.  So, stay tuned and come back as the story goes forward.  You must also go check out the letter that sparked this new quest at: http://www.loveahappyending.com/its-over/.  Don’t forget to leave a comment and let Adam know what you thought of his letter.  And please remember… I’m not REALLY writing this to Adam. So far, we’ve never dated.  So please don’t stalk him or harass him for treating me badly.  And if you’re one of his crazy stalker fans, I’m sure he’d like to keep you in his fan base, not mine.  There’s nothing to see here.

Dear John, umm… I mean, Adam,

I’ve decided to write you a letter instead of talking to you face to face, because I find my thoughts become jumbled when I look into those dark, sexy eyes or follow the curves of your beautiful 6’2” frame.  I added the height reference in there so one of my male friends will have some more fodder to use when he gripes and complains about how all women only like tall men. I wish height was the factor that made assholes, that way I’d gladly skip certain measurements. But, getting back on topic -  I’ll go through the day making a list of some very important topics I’d want to talk about with you, but never quite get the chance to discuss them because you purposefully distract me to keep from talking about them.  I know you do it on purpose, but I can’t help it when those beautiful full lips of yours instantly find mine, and my neck, and my shoulders… and, well… I become dizzy, not to mention I find your strong hands running up and down my body quite distracting.  But after I give in to your distraction and I’m lying in your arms ready to share those heavy things on my mind, I hear you snoring. I’m not complaining about the physical chemistry between us, that’s about the only thing I truly enjoy.  What you can do to my body is amazing, you’re like a god, but it’s the rest of the time we’re together where I’ve got some real issues.  We can’t just stay in bed all day.   You’re missing the best parts of me, well, now you’ll be missing all of me.

I’m an extremely intelligent woman.  I have ideas, dreams, philosophies, theories, opinions, and contemplations that could possibly change the world. I’ve got goals to complete. But how would you know?  You don’t listen when I talk.  When I share things with you, important things that mean the world to me, you’re either watching a game, or a lame ass movie on television, or you start playing with my boobs.   I know you’re used to dating mindless mannequins, therefore only practiced at the art of using your little brain, but it’s quite insulting when you assume I’m manufactured in the same way. I’m unique. I’m one of a kind.  There’s not another like me. Yeah, boobs may come in different shapes and sizes, but they’re essentially the same. But the soul that turns inside me is so much more sexier than what’s on my chest.  You haven’t quite figured out that the brain is the largest sex organ in the body and the heart is the most beautiful part of a person.

“Baby, I’m tired of the same old patterns and want something different, something challenging. You make me want to be a better man.”  Bull shit!  You don’t know what the hell you want.  What happened to being attracted to me for my sense of humor, my thirst for adventure, my intelligence, and my collection of hats?  You pretended to be someone you’re not.  You were amazing on that first date.  I had a great time riding down those rapids with you.  I found it endearing as you put your arms around me and stole a kiss. You repeated my profile back to me, showing me you listened.  That night you sent me a dozen texts just to say goodnight. You made me feel special. You made me think you truly cared about me. You lied.

The next few weeks were also great.  “Good morning, Beautiful,” and “I woke up smiling because you were the star of my dreams last night,” filled my inbox with the sunrise.  “I can’t wait ‘til I see you again, and taste your sweet lips and hear your beautiful voice,” and “Good night, Babe, sweet dreams,” dinged my phone every night.  During the day I’d get a sporadic, “Thinkin’ about you, Babe” or “Check out this song, it made me think of you,” or “I can’t concentrate on this meeting because I’m thinking about that awesome quote you sent me.  Man, that was deep.” You don’t know how many smiles you sent me throughout the day.  Now all I get is an occasional late night, “Hey, I’m so horny, wanna fuck?” or “Why are you so co-dependent that you need me to tell you good morning and good night?  That’s not healthy and it’s not fair for you to put that kind of pressure on me,” or “I can’t text you while I’m working, that’s not professional.  I’ll talk to you when I get home.” I guess you never went home, because I never got those texts, or calls, or emails.  Suddenly you’re always tired or you just don’t answer at all.  I got the message – loud and clear.  You see, I’m not a mannequin.  I’m fully aware.

I stopped texting you weeks ago, only responding when you text me first, but you haven’t even noticed. The song links stopped coming, too. I haven’t asked you about those because I wouldn’t want to see the type of songs you’d send me now.  Instead of coming over so I could cook you a gourmet meal, you wanted to go to IHOP instead.  When I wanted to take a day trip on the back of a Harley, something we had discussed for weeks and you said you absolutely wanted to do, you made the excuse that you broke your toe and it wouldn’t be a good idea.  That excuse also went for the hike and paddle boarding we had planned as well. I noticed the last time we had flash sex (because it sure as hell didn’t feel like making love, and it was over in a flash.  I haven’t climaxed in weeks)… you couldn’t last as long because you were out of breath and out of shape.  I take it that broken toe has also kept you out of the gym and off the track.

I’m sorry, but this isn’t working for me.  I need a man that will not only stimulate and please my body, but will blow my mind… and you just don’t have what it takes. Perhaps you should give those plastic mannequins another shot because they seem to be more on your level.  You tell yourself you want a woman that can think for herself and push you beyond your limits to make you a better man, but how can you really want that when you’re so independent, don’t need anyone, already think you’re perfect, and know everything there is to know?

What you don’t know is that you’ve already lost me, you don’t deserve someone like me, and I’m way out of your league.  But, hey… let’s stay friends, because we all know when a man says that he wants to still be your friend after he’s bored with you, what he really means is that when he’s horny you’re his back-up plan.  He’ll call if he doesn’t have anyone else lined up, or he just needs someone to talk to when he’s lonely and his brainless mannequins can’t stimulate him in the same way.  I’m open to you being my special friend when I get bored, until a real man comes along, if you are.

With much affection,

~Jane, I mean, T.L.

Worth the Fight

Being single has its benefits.  Being single with adult children has even greater benefits. One of those is that you make a lot of  new single friends and your life becomes centered on you and all the things you’ve always wanted to do.  All your married friends, or friends with small children, now have different responsibilities and lifestyles.  That doesn’t mean you won’t still be friends, it just means that for a while you won’t have much in common and walk in different circles.

With these new single friends, you’ll find different levels of philosophies, values, and ideas of what a relationship is all about.  However, if those of us who are single knew the secret to relationships would we be single? There’s a bunch of people who tell themselves their singlehood was their choice.  While that is partially true, someone else was involved in that decision.

One of my single male friends once told me, “Romance and love have nothing to do with each other.  Love is more important than romance.  Romance messes up a relationship. You do stupid things, start having expectations of the other person and yourself, you both put each other in boxes, and people start thinking they own one another.  Real love is something that is so much more valuable.”  This single friend says that as soon as he starts to feel ‘possessed’ by a woman it makes him despise that relationship and he longs to be free.  He admits that he doesn’t think he could ever be completely monogamous to one woman.

I truly think he believes this.  It breaks my heart, because he looks at monogamy as enslavement, and can’t see the beauty of a woman giving him her heart, choosing him to share her life with – her ups, her downs, her body, her passions, her time, her talents, her hopes, and her dreams. Some of these will be fun and others will be heavy. She doesn’t share them to ‘possess’ him, but so they can share one another.  She gives herself to him because she trusts him.  A woman shouldn’t share those  parts of herself with someone who won’t share those same parts back with her.  Because that’s how he values her – by trusting her with himself.  When my friend says he doesn’t think he could ever be monogamous, I don’t think it has anything to do with sex.  He’s saying he’ll never trust a woman enough to give her his whole heart.  I think it’s cruel to ask a woman to share any part of herself knowing he’ll never share his whole heart with her.  It’s a disaster waiting to happen and selfish.

I have another single male friend who is looking for that special feeling with a woman without the complications.  He says there has to be a balance, to never be in a relationship where her problems are bigger than yours – and to keep life simple.  I don’t know if this is sadder than the example above, but it’s pretty sad.  I’m still trying to figure out which one of us really believes in fairy tales.  Who doesn’t have issues and problems?  How unfair it is to put that kind of responsibility on the women he meets. Is he offering her a perfect man in return?  That’s one of the things that make me shake my head on these dating sites  - they ALL say they’re not looking for perfection, because they know they’re not perfect themselves – then ONLY hit on beautiful women or dismiss them on a single trait that doesn’t match their ‘perfect’ partner. (I know they do this – because I did.)

All of us are fucked up in one way or the other.  NONE of us have our lives perfect and we sure as hell don’t ALWAYS make the right decisions.  We all have pasts, we all have fears, we all have weaknesses.  There is no perfect woman out there that’s just going to walk into his life .   There’s perfect opportunities for him to invest his heart, his time, his life into loving a woman, giving her his heart, and finding perfect love between two imperfect people.  Her problems would be his quest to solve, not a reason to hid. His happiness would become her quest.

Like I said earlier, I’m not sure which one of us believes in the fairy tales.  I watch these men expect unrealistic expectations in the woman of their dreams, yet not realize the best one for them is the one they have to fight for and fight with.  It’s the one that makes them laugh and pisses them off at the same time.  It’s the one that makes them question themselves and pushes them to their limits, even though they see it as an irritation. It’s the one that loves them for who they are and isn’t trying to change them.  It’s not the one that only evokes a fantasy in the bedroom, but the one when the bottom falls out that he reaches out to protect because he can’t imagine life without her – her smile, her laugh, her dumb jokes, her stupid ideas or any of her weird quirks.

Now I could go on and on about my single male friends and how I think they’re philosophies are a little warped, but I won’t.  I love them dearly just as they are, degenerate minds and all. I actually feel bad for them mostly because I’ve met a LOT of single women lately and listened to THEIR relationship philosophies… and if I were a man – I’d run!!!  I’d run and hide and never come out.  The things I hear some women say they want, the things I see them do, and philosophies that come out of many of their lipsticked mouths, I understand why men think the way they do.

I’m beginning to agree with my friend above that says love between friends is much better than lovers… and my other friend’s idea to keep your life simple.  While I’m no longer on the dating sites, I’m still dating - I’m dating the most exciting, interesting, and adventurous person I’ve ever come to know – ME.  I’m living in the moment and doing what pleases me in that particular moment.  I’m giving my heart to her, doing the things that please her, that makes her happy. I want to make her dreams come true, I want to fight her battles, I want to stand up to her enemies, I want to see her succeed, I want to make her laugh, I want her to know she’s beautiful and she’s worthy to be loved… and that her problems are worth battling.  She’s worth the fight.

Till next time,

Storming the Castle

Sometimes we underestimate ourselves and the amazing things we can accomplish, so it’s a treasured moment when we finally face a challenge and rise above it.  I know I do it all the time.  While some of us can walk around with a sense of confident assurance (see my last post), there are others like me who’ve been knocked down so many times we don’t feel right unless we’re struggling to stand up, because that’s what we know – the tenacity of trying to scale those walls, but never quite able to storm our castles.  We’re never over the walls long enough to know what it feels like to stand tall and victorious, so we’ve come to expect falling down.  Yet, we’re also stubborn and don’t stay down – we’re always getting back up and facing the castle walls.

This weekend I jumped right into another adventure – I went paintballing with my son, Johnathan.  Being thoroughly forewarned of the possible dangers, pain, and struggles I would most assuredly face in this activity, I excitedly looked forward to it, never hesitating to face those dangers head on.  The only nervousness I felt was that of being late or possibly splitting my pants.  Nah, I didn’t worry about the latter, just threw that in there to keep your attention.

I started out uncertain and slow, having never even held a paintball gun before, but it didn’t take long before I figured out how to shoot and receive my first stings of pain from flying balls of paint. On my first obstacle course I got hit twice - once in the arm (which I didn’t even feel and wouldn’t have known I was hit if not for the paint splatter) and once in the hip.  It stung a little, but the pain was bearable.  That’s all it took – that little bit of exposure  - and I no longer had fear of those flying balls of paint.

The second obstacle challenge we were given an objective to reach a center target and then hold it until time was called.  Instructed to move up as fast as possible, when the buzzer sounded, I took off running and headed for the farthest point closest to my target.  I was almost through the whole field and at my destination when I heard the first paint ball zing by my head.  I made it to cover quickly.  When I turned to look behind me, I expected half my team with me.  There was no one.  I was alone, and the barrels I hid behind were being pelted with rapid fire like you wouldn’t believe.  I hunkered down and waited for my team to catch up so they could draw some fire and I could move to the main tower.  They didn’t come quick enough, and I didn’t make it to my objective.  As soon as I edged the corner of my barricade I was pelted with a ton of rapid fire and my hand took a lot of damage.  I was hit.  Being out, I moved to the sideline to wait for my team to complete their mission.  While there, another player followed soon after me and told me that I had impressed him by being fearless and running so far ahead, that he had tried to get to a place to give me some cover, but he didn’t quite make it.  That made me feel really good.  Especially since this was my first time ever playing this game.

The next obstacle my team was to be on the offensive and storm a compound called Black Hawk Down.  Our objective was to clear the compound and shoot or have the other team members surrender and claim victory.  We had 20 minutes to complete the objective.  The call was sent out and we were on our way.  I once again moved through the barrels and barricades quickly and proceeded to take out several members of the opposing team.  I conserved my shots, taking clear aim and making them count.  However, several minutes into it, I ran out of ammunition.  I stayed hunkered down for a little bit before surrendering and leaving the field.  Being on the offensive, I could not lay down cover fire, draw sufficient fire from my position, or take out any of the opposing team, so I yelled ‘hit’ and walked off the field.  

I was proud of myself for how far I had advanced, yet disappointed I wasn’t able to help bring my team to victory.  Then a young guy sat down next to me after getting hit in the mask and told me that he was able to move up as far as he did because of how well I had done on my side of the course, having eliminated several of the opposite team’s players.  He said I was a great shot and was impressed how I had crouched low and made my shots count.  I was impressed someone in all that chaos noticed anything I was doing.  Thanks to his compliments I walked away from that challenge not wounded and proud of myself and what I have accomplished.  My team won that challenge and was able to storm the castle.  I can’t help but feel I helped make that possible in some way.

Yet, it was the next challenge to which I’m most proud. This time it was our team’s turn to defend the compound.  When I first entered the gates most people had already chosen their spots and it didn’t leave much choice left for me.  Our captain informed us that if we ran out of ammunition to hide and try to run out the clock.  I found a small cove next to the tallest tower, set my gun, and hoped for the best.  The buzzer sounded. I wait to fire until the other team approached really close and then chose my targets carefully.  I’m very proud of myself and my efforts until I run out of ammunition.  I slid down to the ground, trying to keep my head low and wondering what I was going to do until the end of the challenge. There was nine minutes left.  Sitting there on the ground, I saw a small opening in the bottom of the tower. I threw my gun in and then crawled on my belly into the small space also occupied by a nest of wasps.  It opened a little bit more once I got inside and I was able to roll over onto my stomach and get up onto my knees.  When I did so, I found a small hole in the wall and it gave me a good view of the field.  I heard two guys above me in the tower,  another on my right and then two more on my left inside the van.  I peeked through the hole and started shouting out positions of the opposing team, letting those around me know when they were up and when I saw movement.  It didn’t take long before I heard our Captain in the field behind the tower repeating my called positions to the rest of the team.  I once again found a way to become beneficial.

With the one minute warning given, complete chaos ensued.  The other team stormed our compound and rapid fire erupted everywhere.  All I could see from my position was feet running back and forth and loud shouts of “hit” coming from all directions.  I then heard the countdown from 10 seconds… to the game being called.  Then I heard shouts of victory.  Believing it was safe to exit my hiding spot without getting shot, I crawled out of my hole, muddy, dirty and sweating like you wouldn’t believe.

Everyone stopped and looked at me.  The official pointed at the yellow band on my arm and asked, “Are you hit?”  When I said no - dozens of people all around in yellow armbands started yelling and cheering. Having listened to my Captain tell me to hide if I ran out of ammunition, helped me lead my team to victory.  Two guys stepped forward and told me they were the ones in the tower above me and appreciated the help I gave them.  Our Captain, covered in paintball splotches where he’d been ambushed a few moments before just smiled and shook his head.  My son ran up to me and told me that when the other team stormed the compound and I hadn’t come out before that, he just knew for sure I was hurt.  He had thought I was in the van and when he saw the opposing team open the door and lay rapid fire, his heart almost stopped believing I just got majorly pelted.  He then got worried when I didn’t come crawling out the van with the others.  

On the ride home, my son didn’t look at me the same as he did that morning.  I don’t feel the same.  I faced my challenges with confidence.  I adapted in the face of adversity.  I kept my focus on my assignment.  I had fun and was unafraid.  I walked off those fields exhausted, hot, dirty, sweaty, and in a lot of pain, but with my head held just a little bit higher and huge smile on my face.

There’s a lesson to be learned in here somewhere, perhaps even a few of them.  I’m sure I’ll discover them over the next few days and weeks.  On the ride home I thought about what motivated me more throughout the day and I have concluded that it was mostly the fact I was determined to enjoy myself, enjoy this adventure with my son, and tackle this day in a way that would make my friends most proud of me.  My closest friends are/were all badass soldiers in the Army.  For the first time I felt just as badass as they were.  It may have just been paintball – but for me – it was a battle.  In the end… I stormed the castle and now wear the crown.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Confident Assurance

What is it?

Confident – feeling or showing confidence in oneself; self-assured.

Assurance – a positive declaration intended to give confidence; a promise.  Confidence or certainty in one’s own abilities.

Confidence – the feeling or belief that one can rely on someone or something; firm trust.  The state of feeling certain about the truth of something.  A feeling of self-assurance arising from one’s appreciation from one’s own abilities or qualities.

Wow!  They sound like the same thing, but they’re really not. I can’t fully explain what confident assurance is without it sounding like I’m repeating the same definitions listed above, but I can tell you I’ve witnessed it with my own eyes.

I like to watch people even when they don’t think I’m looking.  I listen to them even when it appears I’m not listening.  Sometimes I don’t respond right away, because I’m pondering, wondering, and allowing the ideas to roll around in my thoughts until I’m able to organize them into some semblance of understandable form.  I blog about what I’m trying to understand, because in order to write it I have to organize all those wayward thoughts into some semblance of cognate reasoning.

I have a friend that would be the prime model for Confident Assurance.  This characteristic emanates from his pores like pheromones as if it were an natural part of his DNA.  Maybe it is because he has a brother that seems to also exude many of the same qualities. I’ve watched this man closely, I’ve listened to him speak, I’ve observed him in many different scenarios, and this one thing is constant – this confident assurance.

I’ve watched his eyes look at one thing, yet see everything.  I’ve watched his body in both attention and rest, recreation and sleep, and even still it operates with the smoothness of confident assurance.  It makes me wonder if it’s something taught or something learned, or perhaps a mixture of both.

There’s a sense of authority, an unspoken wisdom, a deeper knowledge like a treasure hidden in a fortified chest that covers this man and all he does.  I envy and admire him and this quality, perhaps because I’m such the opposite in many ways and desire to obtain some of these qualities in myself.  Yet, I like the qualities I have.  I’m passionate, while he’s reserved.  I’m emotional, while he’s practical.  I’m a dreamer and react as if I already possess those dreams, while he is a realist and lives in the moment, rarely beyond the hour or even the day.  I’m clay, while he’s steel.  He inspires me and makes me want to be confidently assured.  I can only hope that I inspire him in a similar way, though I highly doubt it.

My friend told me this morning, “Observations are pointless without construction.”  I couldn’t agree more.  That’s why I sometimes don’t immediately respond or instantly fail to understand the morsel of wisdom being shared.  But that doesn’t mean it’s lost on me.  Those words or ideas will roll over and over in my mind until I learn to break them down, separate them, pull them apart, and then put them back together again.  Sometimes I make a complete mess and the result I end up with is a tangled misunderstanding. This happens most often when things are expressed that I have trouble hearing because of the damage of my previous scars, but I’m healing. Sometimes I’m able to reconstruct, knowing every part of these wise words and how they function.  The result - is confident assurance.

I love my friend just as he is and wouldn’t ever want to change him.  I celebrate and admire our differences.  I love me just as I am.  Sure, I’d like to walk with a bit more confident assurance like he does, and I’m working on it thanks to his influence, but I wouldn’t want to lose me in the process.  I’m not perfect, quite the opposite – perhaps the Queen of Imperfection, but I love, feel, experience, and speak with my whole heart. I live out loud in honesty. I’ll never be boring. Granted, sometimes I’m a complete mess and get a lot of things wrong, but I’m an honest mess.  In that fact …I am confidently assured.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

The New Bachelorette: Dating After 40 - The Truth

My saga into twenty-first century dating over 40 continues and let me tell you, it’s been eye-opening.  I’m learning about so many new things like Catfishing and Polyamory, right along with the tried and true traditional vices like Adultery, Cheating,  Hook-Ups, Herpes and Open-Relationships.

Some of those things I expected to encounter, others have really forced my eyes wide-open in suspended disbelief.  But there’s something else I’ve noticed that I think is even more detrimental and destructive among this wild world of dating… and that is the truth, or lack of it.  So, I thought I’d share just a little bit today.

I’m a writer.  I understand fantasy, fiction,  and fairy tales.  But that world seems to be much more sensible, logical, and plausible than the profiles of many of the current online and offline daters.

Most online profiles read like a laundry list of fantasies and falsehoods of how some people see themselves, or what they think makes them sound good and appealing.  I don’t mind those that say they love the outdoors, it seems EVERYBODY loves the outdoors.  But damn… if you haven’t spent any time in the outdoors in the last couple of years, you don’t really love the outdoors.  You love the idea of the outdoors.  I don’t mind that you love to travel, but how many stamps are in your passport or how many adventure photos do you have?  Sure, EVERYBODY loves to travel, but why waste space on your mini-bio writing something you only love the idea of and have no immediate plans to go anywhere? EVERYBODY is loving, compassionate, and loyal,  except we’re all single, alone or divorced, so there’s been some trouble in one of those departments by either us or our former partners.

But, even so… those are all wonderful qualities to at least ones we should strive for in our selves and in a potential relationship.  However, the profiles that KILL me… that literally have me rolling my eyes and shaking my head are the ones where the dater has absolutely NO common sense.  Here are a few examples of what I mean.

· Don’t post a picture of your truck/car/motorcycle – I immediately pass over those because what that picture tells me is that you’re materialistic and you find your value and worth in the things you possess.  I’m neither about to become another of your possessions, nor come second to your toys. This goes for guys who boast about how much money they make.  I wish they wouldn’t even ask that question.  (Yeah, I know – unfortunately there are gold diggers out there and the sugar daddy’s who like them. Pathetic really.)

· Don’t post a picture of your beer, fish, six-pointer, or your golf clubs.  What this says to me is that if I’m dating you, your first love is “YOU” time, that you love spending time by yourself in the woods hunting, fishing, drinking, and golfing.  There’s nothing wrong with these things in moderation, nor the fact you might love them.  But this is a dating site.  The smart thing would be to show me what fun things you’d want to do WITH a date or a partner… not how you’d spend your time alone.

· For God’s sake, and this if very important,  take a shower, comb your hair, put on a freakin’ shirt and please, please, please …smile.  You don’t know how many pictures I see where the expression on the guy’s face looks like he’s saying, “I hate my fucking life and I’m pissed at the world.”  I’m thinking,  “Wow, you’re a load of fun and I so want to hang out with you.” (Please understand that was said with the thickest of sarcasm.) If you can’t show me being with you will make me happy, I’m running in the other direction. I want to be happy.

· Don’t post pictures of you holding up a wad or fan of money, or shirtless poses, or other distinguishable (and not so distinguishable) parts.  That’s saying, “I’m looking for a hooker. I don’t value you as a person, just a vagina. You mean nothing to me, I just want to get my kicks, use you, objectify you, and then toss you aside for the next good time.”  There are other websites for that sort of ‘dating’.

· Guys, please, get someone to take your picture or get a smart phone that has the reverse photo capability.  I literally laugh out loud at the dozens upon dozens of selfies make with the guy looking like a total dork holding up his camera phone in front of a mirror.  Not that using the camera phone in such a way is dorkish… but it’s the expressions on your faces when taking those kind of photos.  I’m looking for smart, intelligent, creative, a man who can think on his feet.  If he can’t handle a simple cell phone, how will he ever be able to handle me?

· Post a photo.  If you don’t post a photo, you’ll get no response from me or probably anyone else.  The only ones who would respond would probably be the women who’ve broken all the above suggestions themselves and not getting any responses from anyone. I’m not just a pretty face, nor am I looking for just a pretty face. I look at the eyes, the smile to see if I see life or a spark of life in them.  Not posting a photo tells us ladies that you’ve got something to hide or are ashamed of your looks.  Yes, we women love our eye candy just as much as you guys do, but NO WOMAN likes a man with low self-esteem.   Not any real woman.

I want a relationship just as much as the next person.  I love my life and I want to share it with someone.  What I look for in a man for that relationship is so much more than a hot body.  Actually, if your body seems to be the thing you present most or first, I often pass you right by, no matter how good-looking you might be.  I’m mostly looking for qualities in a man that will tell me he will value me, he will pay attention to me, he will care for me, and he will share his life with me.  The profiles that appeal to me most are pictures of the guy smiling, having fun, showing affection to his family or his children, and showing me his accomplishments.

Nothing is more attractive to me than seeing a man beam with pride toward his children or of something he’s worked hard at and accomplished in his life.  It shows me where his heart is.  If I can see the love he has for them, I’ll be able to see the love he would have for me.  A brilliant mind, astounds me. A passionate soul, stirs my passions.  A compassionate man, melts my heart.

But, I guess my idea of ‘dating’ is so much different than the average norm.  It seems sex and physical attraction is up front and center.  Don’t get me wrong, I plan on having lots of wild, crazy sex, but within the confines of a relationship.  My body will follow my heart, yet it seems the world seems to think that the heart will follow the body.

Yes, before I enter into a relationship, there has to be physical attraction, commonalities of interests, and differences enough to bring a unique perspective so there will be balance.  Yet, I’m discouraged most often because I feel like I’m alone in this pursuit by the profiles I read day after day after day.  But, I know that’s not the truth, because the truth is buried deep beneath all these layers of peacock feathers.   It’s truly a treasure when I come across a profile where the guy is just being himself, being honest with himself, making him the most attractive man of the day, at least it is for this bachelorette over 40 looking for love and truth.

Till next time,
~T. L. Gray

Author Appearance - T.L. Gray

http://uwgperspective.com/around/stories/bookfest.html

I will be there signing copies of my pubilshed books.  I'd love to see you if you can make it.

UWG to Host Inaugural Bookfest for Local Authors

The University of West Georgia Bookstore is hosting more than 20 local and regional authors for the inaugural “UWG Bookfest” book festival on Wednesday, September 18, 2013, at 7:00 p.m. This catered event is free and open to the public.

“The UWG Bookstore wanted to provide a venue to local authors, as well as faculty, staff and alumni with publications, to celebrate their accomplishments,” says Mark Rhodes, manager of the UWG Bookstore. “It is also our desire to raise public awareness about the great artistic and literary community in Carrollton and surrounding areas. We hope this special event will be a highlight for them.”

Guests will enjoy free food, readings from authors, book signings and music provided by WOLF radio. Guests will also receive a 5 percent discount on all UWG Bookstore merchandise excluding books featured during bookfest.

The impressive list of authors represents all genres and includes several who are now living in the Carrollton area, are alumni of UWG or are current UWG professors. With everything from historical romance and the paranormal to poetry, operas and more, the bookfest offers something for everyone.

The UWG Bookstore is located at the corner of West Georgia Drive and University Drive and is open Monday through Thursday from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m., and Friday from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m.

For more information, please visit www.bookstore.westga.edu or call (678) 839-6523.

- See more at: http://uwgperspective.com/around/stories/bookfest.html#sthash.RJiXTpDM.dpuf

Till next time,
~T.L. Gray

Twice Upon a Time - Review

Review first published in July/August edition of West Georgia Living Magazine, a bi-monthly print publication of the Times-Georgian. ©2012 Times-Georgian.

Author: Frank Allan Rogers

Publisher: Solstice Publishing

Expected Release Date: Summer 2012

Words/Genre: 94,000/Fantasy

Bio: Frank Allan Rogers, the new F-word in Fiction, lives at Fairfield Plantation in Villa Rica, Georgia with his wife, Mary. 

His debut book, Upon a Crazy Horse, was published in 2009 and nominated for Georgia Author of the Year Award for Best First Novel.

 Frank is a current member of the Carrollton Creative Writer’s Club, Western Writers of America, and Southern Independent Bookstores Association. 

Please check out Frank’s website at www.frankallanrogers.com  for announcements and appearances. He can also be found on Facebook.

Twenty-first century, philanderin’, womanizin’ and playboy millionaire August Myles is shot and killed during a senseless robbery on what was to be his fifty-seventh birthday.  At first, eternity seems quite pleasant.  He feels no more fear, fatigue, stress, or the aches and pains of aging, and as far as he is concerned, he looks damned good walking around in his favorite jacket and walking shoes.  That is, until he meets Socrates … Yes, that Socrates!  …and finds, though he never murdered, raped or stole from anybody, he doesn’t qualify for a ticket through the pearly gates. 

Socrates tightened the chord on his toga.  “Satan is demanding your soul.  You’ll have to take up your case with him.  I can do nothing, August.”

“Yes you can!  Go back to your precious Divine Council and ask them to take another look at my record,” August demanded, then requested, and then fell on his knees and prayed for another chance, one more time around.  “I can get it right next time, I know I can.”

That’s exactly what Socrates does, and the Divine Council, in a desire for a grand experiment, grants August his second chance by giving him a mission, but one that comes with a little twist and just a few restrictions.  

·         The Twist – August is sent back to the year 1847 to the Wild West, thirty years younger, but he will be almost as a mortal– complete with all weaknesses and desires, but no supernatural abilities. 

·         The Mission – August must escort and protect eleven-year old orphan, Emily Lewis, in a wagon train along the Oregon Trail. 

·         The Restrictions– August isn’t just wagering his soul against damnation, but that of a thousand other souls.  He cannot fail his mission, and he cannot have intercourse with a mortal.  

Trouble starts immediately for August as he arrives in Independence, Missouri with nothing more than the clothes on his back and a hundred dollars’ worth of gold coins in his pocket.  His first purchase – after a tough battle of hagglin’ with a black livery owner named Forrest (whom everyone else just calls, Trees), is an Appaloosa stallion named Aristotle for seventy-two-fifty, nearly three-fourths of all the money he carried.   It was still weeks away before the wagon train left for Oregon, and according to the Wagon Master, Clark Bonner, August will need a few more things to be in the train: basic supplies from Leeds, a rifle and ammo, a wagon that can haul a couple thousand pounds and can take a beating for six months, a team to pull the wagon, and a sixty-five dollar fee. Oh, and most importantly, he is not allowed to bring the whore Candy Valentine. The problem is, August already promised to take Ms. Valentine on the train with him as an escort for young Emily.  

  

As if August doesn’t have enough on his plate as it is, trying to earn enough coin working for the local saddle maker, Sam “Hoppy” Hopkins, to get everything he needs, and convince Bonner to make an exception for Ms. Valentine, he finds himself chasing down a thief he stumbles upon in the middle of the night who tries to steal a load of Mr. Bonner’s ‘shovels’. Come morning, after delivering the thief to Marshall Edenfield’s deputy, Jonas, August finds himself behind bars, accused of the very crime he tried to stop a few hours before, and the deputy nowhere to be found.   Gettin’ out of jail and proving his innocence becomes tricky for August, and is not without its complications – and let’s not forget there’s a real thief out there somewhere.  

As the train is set to roll out of Independence, Missouri, August has gained a wagon and a team of mules, a waiver of the sixty-five dollar fee to Mr. Bonner’s train, as well as a reprieve for Ms. Valentine.  Yet, it came with a strong warning that he would be held accountable for Candy’s behavior, and she was not to cause trouble, or else they’d both be kicked off the train. 

After a few days on the trail, August feels like he’ll be able to meet all his mission requirements, even the one about chastity – though Ms. Valentine makes that a bit difficult for him with her constant flirting and combined assumptions of the other wagoner’s, that is until fate steps in and he meets the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, Mrs. Diana Desmond. 

 

This young, beautiful, strong-willed widow confuses and befuddles August to the point of frustration.  He doesn’t understand how she can have such strong compassion one minute, and then cold treatment of his eleven-year old ward, Emily, the next.  She confides to August that her marriage had been one of convenience, and not of love, and she’s not shy about sharing her troubled past or how she feels about a particular cowboy.   He draws her in one minute, in moments of weakness and overwhelming desire, and then pushes her away the next, when he remembers his restrictions.  On top of that, he has to deal with Candy and her constant advances and the insufferable, egotistical Ian Callahan and his romantic notions toward Diana.   In his jealousy of Callahan, August finds himself in a high-noon showdown, facing death, and ultimately the failure of his mission – all for a woman.  How does he fare in the gun fight?  You’ll have to read and find out. But I can say this is not a ‘forbidden fruit’ moment and the undoing of August Myles.

“I’ll see you in Oregon City,” August said.

Diana stared at the ground. “Why should I believe that?”

“Because I love you.  I risked my life in a gunfight because I love you.”

“Gunfights don’t prove you love me.  They prove you’re stupid.”

“Love can make a man do stupid things.”

“Like getting himself killed?”

“Like kissing a woman who calls him stupid.”

“Then shut up and kiss me, stupid.”

…In that occasion of ultimate human intimacy, of life’s greatest pleasure that could have been created by none other than God – when time is suspended, when vision goes cloudy, when hearing is subdued, when all senses and desires surrender to passion in a perfect world and focus only on fleeting moments of pure ecstasy – August Myles and Diana Desmond …

Does August fulfill all parts of his mission?  Does he break his restrictions? Does he give in to his natural desires and temptations? Or does he have the strength to resist?

It seems every decision made by August bears an eternal consequence.    They cost him a best friend, his wagon to burn, and got the Devil scrambling to prepare a case against him at his trial with the Divine Council.

Before August is whisked away to face the battle for his soul, he finds a friend in an enemy, and trades his greatest treasure for a safe return.  

Does August Myles escape condemnation?

Is Socrates able to pull out a miracle?

What becomes of the women (Diana & Emily) August loves?

What happens to Candy Valentine?

I’d love to be able to tell you how this story ends, but you’ll just have to read it for yourself.  Frank Allan Rogers does an amazing job answering all those questions, and reading his words would be better than mine.  Rogers’ skill with novel writing is superb.  He grabs attention in the first paragraph and doesn’t let go until the last word.  I was ‘literarily’ pulled from my twenty-first century existence into a nineteenth-century adventure.  I fell in love with the wagon train lifestyle, as well as the cowboy, August Myles.  I know you will too.