The A Type

F: 'I know what it is. I don't think you're Alpha male girlfriend or wife material'

Me: 'What is that meant to mean?'

F: 'It means they don't choose women who make them feel inadequate. They choose women who will support them while they play the game. Not women who they'll need to show up for as spectators.'

Me: 'Oh. So then what do i do?'

F: 'Lower your expectations. Choose someone less A type. Someone who doesn't need to be in control.'

Me: 'I like driven men. They're hot.'

F: 'T'hey're not hot when they tell you that you're too independent and not at home enough and always wrapped up in your projects. You are not a doll - and in the end, they can't handle it.'

Me: 'So what am i mean to do?'

F: 'Change yourself.'

Me: 'Not gonna happen. What else you got?'

F: 'Change what you're prepared to accept in a man. Choose someone who will let you be in control
Me: I don't WANT to be in control of someone else's life. I want someone who is so secure and in control in his own life that he will let me be me, leave me alone to do my thing and give me all the support I need to succeed.'

F: 'And that's not exactly been an easy find, has it?'

Me: 'And so where does that leave me?'

F: 'Alone.'

Me: 'Well thanks for calling. That's great news. That's really fantastic news.'

Ready or Not

I go the gym. it's closed for refurb.
I go to the alternative gym they're redirecting us to.
It's not open yet. i go back to yoga studio - just missed class.
I go to Starbucks.

The guy in front of me is asking the girl what helps with colds.
She is saying nothing.
He says 'Aw come ON!' in a proper Glasgow voice.
He's desperate.
I whisper: 'The chai will help - tea bag, NOT the syrup.'
He turns round and asks 'How come?'
I am looking at the tea. 'It has fresh ginger, cardamon and cinnamon. They'll help.'
I look up at him. It's my yoga teacher.

Only it's the first time we're seeing each other properly dressed and so neither of us are very certain that we recognise each other. We look more deeply at one another to be sure. It's funny, outside of a room where it's 104 fahrenheit, where we're both not drenched in sweat, I see very clearly for the first time what I saw in the soaking studio all along: he's just like James Macavoy in look and character for his role in Shameless. Swagger, charm, tenderness, wise, streetwise, utterly genuine, all confidence and intelligence and heart.

I look at the floor - I think I am blushing. Why am I blushing?

He keeps looking at me with a huge grin on his face. We both know we've just broken our unspoken rule - to never ever communicate out of the context of the Studio.

He keeps grinning at me and doesn't take his eyes off me. 'How do I get her to make it?'

The girl behind the counter who was trying to serve him is wondering what just happened between these two strangers. She's staring at us bewildered.

'Hot water. Don't let her turn it into a latte. Like no milk...' I say.

'I like milk' he says

'OK, just a dash of milk. but really not much' I concede.

He tells the girl what to do.

I get my drink and move on.

'Thanks for that, ' he says, not taking his eyes off me.

'You're welcome' I say, hastily moving away.

Neither of us has acknowledged that we know each other yet.

A minute later, he comes up to me, still grinning fixing me with direct blue eyes:

'Sugar - what do you think?'

'Honey is better, ' I say 'For a cold... It'll be more healing. It's antiseptic and...'

'Yes! Honey!'

He's clearly delighted.

He  turns around to go, still grinning - and looks at me, by now laughing out loud:

'I'll be across the road. And you had better be in - later.'

I watch him leave, smiling - wondering why neither of us openly said 'Hi' to the other.

***

About sixty seconds later,  it hits me like a ray of light: L has left this relationship, and I'm out here in the world alone. Everything in my world has changed. Again.

And the journey goes on. Again.

And you can't stop change.
It will have you.
It's always coming - whether you're ready or not.

Whatever we may have wanted for our life. Whatever we may still want - there are things we don't get to control. There are people who won't be there when they said they would be. There are people who will leave you on your own when they said they never would not because they meant to hurt you - but because Change came for them.

And now, it's coming for you.
It's happening. Already.
It can't be denied.

And I can't stop it.
I think it's better that I get ready.
Help me angels.

Conversation Before Bed (I Don't Care if it's Ryan FUCKING Gosling)

Two life long girlfriends talking on the phone before bed on a mid week night:


F: You have been alone for 7 out of the last 10 years

M: I know it. I am unloveable.

F: No, you’re not. You’re stupid.

M: What?

F You make it hard on yourself. You have very high standards.

M: What?

F: Like, he has has to be a freaking off the scale genius - even though he can’t actually communicate on a day to day level, you choose THAT guy. Or the other guy these last few years - I mean he was so goddam spiritual, he was a freaking monk.

M: What is this conversation for?

F: You need to lower your standards.

M: (LOL!) For what?

F: You'll end up old and alone.

M: I am old and alone. I 'm good. It's fine.

F: See, you do this. You're so fine being alone - how is a man going to feel like you need him? A man has to feel like he is needed.

M: I don't do 'need'. It's an illusion.

F: Oh god. You have been on your own for 7 out of 10 years.

M: You said that already.

F: Did I tell you you're stupid?

M: Yes, you did.

F: Silence.

M: Are we done? Are you done?

F: So that was your 30s.

M: You know what else i don't need? I don't need my goddam friends projecting their insecurity about their life choices on to me. I am not sorry my life looks different from yours. It's beautiful. And I love it, and it's mine. Now can I go?

F: Silence

M: I'm gonna go. Goodnight. I love you. I'll call you next week.

F: Silence

M: You're upset. Why are YOU upset? I'm the one going through the thing. What's wrong?

F: Why can't you say yes if he has kids? Even you said you would take Ryan Gosling off the 'fantasy league' list if he ever had kids... I mean, why do you make it so hard all the time?

M: That's not making it hard for me, that's called self care. If a man is a father to kids under 20, he's not really available. I learned that already. He has a number one priority which is not your relationship - and he manages his priority with another woman. Not going there. Trust me.

F: It's not always like that.

M: Oh come on. If he's actually a nice man, and a good father - it's just like that. That's why he's not available. Can we drop this. Please.

F: You don't..

M: OK, you know what? YOU don't. You DON'T get to tell me this stuff. YOU were not married into exactly that situation, and I was. And I got out of it and it nearly killed me - and THAT is why I have spent 7 out of 10 years alone. Because it - that whole decade of my life that I gave to a marriage that turned out not to be a priority for anyone but me, and then getting out of that situation - it nearly fucking killed me. OK? So that's why I don't care if it's Ryan FUCKING Gosling, I'm not fucking going there again.

And yes, that's why it's taking me so fucking long to give you my happy ever after so that you can feel whatever vicarious fucking bullshit it is you feel when you look at me.
I mean can you get that? Can you?

F: Oh, I see. Well, now I get it.

M: Silence

F You know what's sad? You gave him your 20s, but he kind of took your 30s too.

M: No he didn't. It's my choice how long I mourn for something or make sense of something or move one from something.

F: Well you'll be 40. And all this time of your life, most of your 30s, you were on your own.

M: Well, my 40s are mine. And I'm really happy. And it's going to be fine.

F: You're not unloveable.

M: I know that. Goodnight.

F: Hey, maybe you'll end up meeting Ryan Gosling and he'll have children with you. That would be cool.

Me: Um. I don't think so. He's kind of too young for me.

F: OMG, I told you, you're stupid. You are.

M: I know. Goodnight.

Note to Self: Face Your Fears. Find Your Self.

About two weeks ago, the readers' notes on ALL THE REASONS I SAID YES, re-write number one came back. And they love the work. They compare it to 'Silver Linings'. And they say it's a very special indie. And they're talking about a buyer and connecting with the material.

But of course there are some very stern words: 'A screenplay is not a novel' and the 're write your dialogue' and the 'develop your character'.

But one message keeps repeating from four different readers:
'The only thing holding this back are the errors with the format - apart from that, it's compelling, powerful, fascinating, beautiful, poignant, relevant...'

Wow. So it's good. But it needs some work.

But, they think studios will want to move on it so fast that they want to bring in a new writer - because this screenplay, it's very NOW. No time, apparently, to wait three years for the idiot new writer (that's me) to perfect the art of cinema dialogue and character development. It's a case of: 'Don't sit on this. Get someone who knows the format - NOW and let's go'.

But wait - I need a goal. I'm like that.
This screenplay's not for sale -not without me. (Unless Woody Allen's directing, in which it's yours, honey - I'll see you in the cinema.)

So - I need some time to do a dialogue re write. And I need a mentor. And I need to stay really really calm. And I probably should to get back to LA kind of quickly to get in the middle of what might happen here.

Lots of things suddenly feel urgent.

But I'm in Scotland. Attached to a piece of work that I am committed to.
Sitting here frozen. This time literally as well as metaphorically.
I can't write anything for the client.
I can't get the words out.
The project for ten days is at a standstill, like a ship locked in ice.

***

When I got the reader notes back, I didn't tell anyone. I told myself, I don't have time to deal with this right now. I have a deadline for a client. Deliver it. And then come back to this.

Only tonight, I am staring at my frozen self and beginning to admit: this is really, really hard - trying to stay focused on the day job, writing materials for other people on subjects that are a million miles away from where my heart is beating - when I've got all this going on in your mind about something that's happening 6000 miles away. It's really, really hard.

And that's why I'm having writer's block for the first time in my writing career.
Because I feel completely overwhelmed.

I tell myself if I can just get this chapter nailed, I'll have time to go back to the screenplay and start rewrite number two - and I'll show them that we really don't need a new writer.

I'll show myself that I can do this. Even with my inexperience, and lack of schooling in the art, I can learn fast and because I have a talent - I can do this. I can do this in less than three years. I can do this in time for 'now'. And anyway, as Morrissey once said: how soon is now?

I keep telling myself I can not afford to lose days here. But I'm so overwhelmed that that's exactly what I'm doing. I am losing days and days. And the panic is rising. To levels that I don't remember ever having experienced before.

And then in meditation tonight it came to me.
We say we want something.
But when it responds to our call, are we ready for the journey?
Because I'm really, really scared.

There's a fear that I don't know how to write it the way that they'll want it. And there's a fear that THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING...and there's a fear that all of this is going nowhere... and there's a fear that I am going to f*** this up spectacularly.

All of this fear has left me distracted as I've ever been.
I can't write for the client.
I can't write for myself.
I can't write for the readers or the studios.

***

As I sat with an awareness of my own fear, a deeper, and yet more gentle knowing, began to speak to me and fill me:

This is all about EQUANIMITY under pressure - this is exactly what yoga is all about.
Staying focused under pressure.

Isn't this what seven years of yoga have prepared you for?
Don't you know how to practice?
Are you going to forget everything you've learned now?
Because this what you learned for - and you're only at the start of the journey.
You're going to have to learn a lot more and go a lot deeper for a long way yet.

You might get nowhere - and so what?
You might f*** it up - and so what?
You might get it right - and so what?
How identified are you to the idea of  'failure' ?
Are you so identified with it that you are not able to finish what you started?
Are you so identified with it that you will measure your self worth against it?
You should know better.
We've done that work.
You know that all of that is a lie.

***
I remembered that I wrote something on Sunday afternoon when I was staring out the window.
And I realized that I wrote it as a message for me:

"the thing you think you can't do - it's what you were meant for.
Face your fears. Find your self."
#fearless #believe

***

It's a test. 

I've not doing too well at it these last 10 days. 

But now I know it's a test, 

I know what I have to do. 

Help me angels.  

Just stay close now angels.

Passiflora Edulis - This and All Lifetimes

Today L and I exchanged emails about the way towards healing his anxiety so that he can reduce his meltdowns and get on with the life he loves. I said:

 'I'll be here to help you in this and all lifetimes.' 

I said this without knowing that this truth is actually written into my name.

I was reminding him to take Passionflower. Passionflower is known by MDs (and parents, partners and spouses of those on the spectrum) all over the world a powerful, excellent and safe natural remedy for autism, anxiety, ADHD, OCD.

As I sent him links to remind him why he should take it, by chance I came across the information that my name in Indian means Passiflora. The Rakhi flower in India is called Passiflora Edulis. It turns out that the passionflower - that is me.

"this and all lifetimes"

***

Earlier today I was having doubts about something I'm working on: it's a piece of writing about life for a family who have different members on different parts of the spectrum.

It helps general audiences become informed about autism and helps people on the spectrum feel less alone. It's funny, and sharp and poignant and touching.

Today I had doubts. Thinking I can't do this.
I'm not a good enough to to this.
I don't know enough to do this.

I was talking to angels saying if I can do this - if I am meant to do this, give me a sign.

And then I found about Passiflora. And Rakhi.
And now I  know what I'm here for.

And maybe...just maybe...maybe they were trying to tell me that I was born to this.

It was the name I was given when I was born.
I think it was given as a sign for me to realize who and what I am here for when I eventually woke up.

No more doubts.
I believe I can do this.
And it is is beautiful.


Thank you angels.

Ways That Belong to Only You and Them

A hospice is a combination of the clinical and the poignant. He is 85 and is holding the hand of the woman who he has spent 60 years of his life with. 

'You see - I am writing the book. The one you always wanted me to write. It's for you. I'm doing it now.' 

She blinked. 
He began to write. Sometimes he would read back what he had written so far. 

Later, he sat further away. He had tears in his eyes. 

I noticed that she had fixed her eyes, unblinking, on him even at all that distance. 'Go sit,' I said, 'She's asking you to be closer.' 

He moved forward. 
And silently she held his eyes; for a moment I felt she held all of him in her eyes, perhaps just as she used to hold him in her arms. I understood that when you love someone and you need to, you will find different ways of holding them, ways that belong to only you and them.

I'll Be Right Beside You Dear

In the days leading up to leaving there was too much to do.
Tickets. Passports. Goodbye lunches. Meetings. So many meetings.

Except with you.
No meetings with you.
We both thought that I would leave with no goodbye.

Your refusal to accept that I would get on the plane.
I know exactly what you thought. You thought I'd never board the plane if I couldn't see you to say goodbye. You thought if you held out, then I wouldn't actually go. And everything would be okay.

My knowing that I was failing to make you understand that I had no choice.
It was time for me to go.

***

But the day I flew, I did what neither of us had thought we could handle.
On the way to LAX, I told the taxi driver to drive me to where I knew you'd be.
And there you were.

Tired. Looking so tired. And sad.
Your running top had shrunk and was unusually tight on you. I know you left it in the dryer too long.
You had shorts on but your legs were thin and they weren't tanned anymore.
I knew you hadn't been surfing or even near the water even once.
You weren't wearing your Rainbow sandals.
Shoes. Socks. And shorts. And too tight running top.
In 110 degrees.
Your hair was sticking up like you'd just got out of bed.
Only I know you - and I know that your hair was sticking up because you're not sleeping anymore.
You're staying up through the nights. Sad. Stressed. Confused. Exhausted.


I gave you your present and you said, 'No. You can't go.'
And I said,  'I have to go.'
And you said, 'No. Don't go. Tear it up now. Tear up your ticket now.'
And I said, 'I had to see you. The taxi's waiting outside. I have to go now.'
And you said, 'No. You can't go.'

You were frantic with grief and confusion.

I said 'Let me say goodbye. I'll be back as soon as I can be. I'll be back.'
And you wouldn't let me hold you.
And you wouldn't make eye contact.
And all you said over and over again, looking at the floor, shifting your feet, dripping with grief:

'You're not going. You're not going. You're not going.'

And then I had to go.

I walked to the taxi knowing that you were behind me.
But I couldn't turn around to face you because if I looked at your beautiful face and into your aching eyes, I might not be able to get into the taxi. 
 You said over and over, 'You can't leave. You can't go. No'

And eventually you roared, sobbing, both of us sobbing:

'NO! NO! NO!'

And I got in the taxi.

I looked out the window and I could see you: you were standing in the driveway, one hand shading your eyes from the sun, your gaze directed at me, as if in total disbelief.
I was crying too hard to tell the driver what to do, but he didn't need to be told.
He said 'If you're ready, nod and I'll drive to the airport. You don't need to speak.'
And I nodded.
And as he drove, I looked at you from the rear screen window as you looked at me moving further away, and I looked at you becoming smaller and smaller in the distance.

All the way to LAX I wondered if I was going to tell the driver to turn the car around, but somehow I didn't say a word. When I got there, even after I checked in, in those last few seconds just before going through security, I wondered if I should instead walk in the other direction, and get myself home to you, so that I could hold you through the night and you could finally get some sleep again.

***

We both knew then that it's not forever. But it was a terrible time to have to leave - in the continued aftermath of your grief for your mother, and the huge processing and re-organizing that's left because of her loss, whilst you're in the middle of developing a property,

'I need you now,' you've since written to me. 'How could you leave?'

You're still, to this day oblivious to all those 'rules' that you had invented for me, that I had to follow to help you manage your stress. You don't understand that it was your rules that made it impossible for me to stay with you this summer. You genuinely don't understand that nobody who writes for a living could actually live under a set of rules that involved agreeing to not writing.

When I tell you this, you say wide eyed and sincerely,

'But why?'

And you mean it. Sincerely. And you'll go on, sweetly:

'Why not a for a few years until I get through this? If you help me too, all my stress will be over quickly: maybe in under two years. And the you can write again. All I'm asking for is no writing for the next two years, that's all.'

And you'll be asking the question in all seriousness: 'No writing for two years, that's all...' 

Because amongst the things that are very hard for you are the ability to see things from someone else's point of view, and the ability to predict or feel someone else's emotion: empathy.

So when I say:

'Honey, I can't tell you I won't write. That won't work for me,'

You say, simply:

'Why?'

And you are genuinely bewildered at how I can love you and still say no.

Because this is a love on the Spectrum: with anxiety, and rules, and not being allowed to hold you when you're stressed, and no eye contact when it's all overwhelming, and where you literally don't sleep for days in a row because of stress and sensory overload, and confusion, and lack of understanding, and goodbyes that don't make any sense to you, and even more confusion.

That's You.

And that's okay. Why should I expect you to understand something that your brain isn't wired to be able to do?  It's a neurodiverse world. And I don't love you just to be understood at all times.

I love you because it's what I was born to do: to love you just the way you are, whatever's going on.

And for whatever the areas that we struggle in,  there are the areas that make my heart soar:

The most intelligent, sincere, loving, gentle, beautiful, divine, thoughtful, heart in the whole universe.

That's You too.
And that's why I'm the one who's blessed. By You.


***

So it's not forever.
And you were right: with more time you'll feel better, things will lift, you'll be under less pressure and you won't need those rules anymore. That's how this mysterious condition works. The more stress you're under, the more rigid and inflexible you have to be about your rules.
But in time, it will subside. And you'll get back to being you.

And in the meantime I'll be back.
All this will pass my sweet, sweet love.

Every day, I miss you.
I remember you in the sun, on the beach in Laguna - on new year's eve at sunset, the day I fed rice to the fish in the ocean, and you threw a coconut into the sea because a Vedic astrologer had told us there would be cosmic benefits for us if we did.
We climbed the rocks to the edge of the Ocean.
There was sunlight pouring over you.
I took that picture.

My god I miss you.

You send me messages about what you're doing to the property and I close my eyes and I'm with you.

You send me pictures of your time with Amma telling me the prayers that you did for us both; and the blessings that you received for both of us; and I see you standing in the drive way that day watching my taxi move away, and I think I am the luckiest girl in the world to have found YOU.

So maybe you'll come over here and you'll sail a boat around the Scottish islands. Now that I'm here there are so many things I want for you to see. Maybe you'll meet me in Rome. Or Paris. Maybe we'll go to India together in the winter and spend six months at the ashram before we go back to Laguna.

Every day until then, you're the first thing I think of when I wake.
And the last thing I think of before I sleep.

I miss you. 
My, sweet, special, love through time and space.