At a birthday party recently, a 38-year old, admitted playboy, bragged that he is such a frequent patron of the nine-ten bar in La Jolla that he can consume $100 dollars in liquor and end up paying only $20. I’m assuming he shared this bit of information to somehow impress me – it didn’t.

A friend, whose income is 1/5 of her boyfriend’s, was fed up with his continual bragging of the surf trip he is taking to Indonesia, she spoke up and finally said how much she wanted to go to Indonesia, someday. He replied, “Then go.” She clarified by saying she couldn’t afford a trip like that, hoping he would understand and perhaps even suggest that someday he would take her. He missed it and replied again, “why don’t you just go if you want to go.”

Last night, a group of my friends were meeting for Happy Hour (HH) at Pacifica in Del Mar. A friend and I arrived early to scout out a table because the bar gets packed every night of the week there. While we were waiting for a table to open up, a young server came over and suggested we get a drink, assuring us that a table should be available shortly. Our group prefers to go out for HH because we are all budget conscious. Also, by starting the evening early we can be sobered up before driving back to our perspective homes.

The server showed us the menu and said there were drink specials for HH, we asked about prices, she said we could get well drinks for $5-6. Great! By the time our drinks arrived we had snagged a table and our other friends arrived. At the end of the evening our bill came, but the story had changed. We were charged $9 each for our drinks, almost double what was told us.

My artist friend and I spoke up about the bill in defiance of our visibly embarrassed friend who would rather die than dispute a check. I tried to explain that it just wasn’t fair that we were told one price and then charged nearly double. It was as much principle as dollars and cents. Ignoring her stink eye, we fought for what was right and had the check adjusted. I’m not sure if it was more necessity or justice that provoked our action, but it was clear that we were not bothered by how we appeared to the server, we were bothered by the injustice. This event highlighted the difference in how different people can/do care about very different things, fundamental things. My mortified friend was more concerned over her reputation and appearances, so much so in fact, she was willing to pay the difference in order to shut us up. She overpaid and over-tipped in an attempt to counteract our “ill manners.” (Not her words, her thoughts I presumed from the look on her horrified face.)

This has me thinking a lot about the haves and the have-nots and how socio-economics plays a large role in who you spend time with. People with above average incomes take for granted their dispensable spending money. My friends who are artists, writers, students or office workers, all have to watch every penny that leaves their hands. We don’t have a surplus, every dollar counts. Each weekly, or monthly in some cases, entertainment spending decision must be weighed carefully against the practical concerns of living expenses. Some manage the juggling act better than others, some fail miserably. As someone who went from the corporate world with steady paychecks, benefit plans and subsided health care, I am acutely aware of how much I didn’t think about those things until they were gone. An extra drink at a bar or an overly generous tip didn’t concern me in the least. I had more than enough to experience most things I chose to do.

It’s easy to forget where another person’s coming from when you’re so wrapped up in yourself. This is what’s fundamentally wrong with our culture in Southern California. I won’t overstate it by moving beyond my sunshine borders, but I would guess this epidemic is far more expansive than my corner of the world.

Today I worked with words, not in the way I usually do, but in an experimental series of word associations. It struck me that an issue that I thought was tapering off kept showing up in my word choices. It reminded me of the word association game that psychiatrists use on their patients, (at least from what I've seen in the movies) the one where the doctor asks the patient to say the first word that comes to their mind. As I worked through about six different exercises, I noticed the trend. I also noticed that my words were blameful. I was honest and called it like I saw it, but I felt myself get angry as this theme developed. It occurred to me that I am (still) equally angry with myself, just as much as I am angry with him. What do I do with it? I, metaphorically speaking, put the period at the end of that sentence, heck, I punctuated that whole chapter; but, why then is it coming up so fresh in my writing? Perhaps it's too soon to dismiss the whole thing, even though I certainly have tried.

When you close the door on a life you don't want, how long before you're ready to open up a new one? I know there is no concrete answer to this. It surely varies from person to person, from situation to situation, and each time is different, I suppose. I'd love to be able to see, really see, how others deal with endings and beginnings in their lives? Wouldn't it be enlightening to really peer inside of another and see if there's peace in their soul? And if not, how long does it take for their peace to return?

Poetry at least provides me peace and is my consistent resource for cathartic release. Elegy is my familiar friend in times of existential angst. The best way I can put an ending behind me is by putting pen to paper. It's done more for me than any therapist could. One day though, I would love to write something other than elegies, and I'm certain I will.

During a recent reading of Clarissa, by Samuel Richardson, the question of duty to oneself versus duty to family is raised, as well as whether a woman has to marry and become a man's possession. Women were commodities, back then. The other question raised was whether women possess virtue. Lovelace, the casanova in the book, believes no woman is virtuous; hmmm, that's the pot calling the kettle. Many other issues came up for women in the 18th Century; and it occurred to me that all of the issues in that early novel are still present today in the 21st Century. Nearly 300 years later and we human beings haven't managed to figure out how to be completely true to oneself while relating harmoniously to others, especially love and family relationships. Three Hundred Years. I understand that is a relatively short period of history if we map the entire evolution of man, but, I would think that we would've had a few more things worked out by now.

The tragic ending to Clarissa is a sobering analogy, only in death can she be free: free to remain unmarried, free from being a commodity traded by her family, and free from the power struggles and abuses she faced in life. After facing deception, exile, and ultimately ill health, Clarissa's only peace was found in her trust that life would be better after death. This ending, be it much more dramatic than my recent "ending," parallels my refusal to be dominated, controlled or over powered by a manipulative man. Like Clarissa, I'd rather live without possessions than be possessed by another whose thirst for power only highlights their deep insecurity and internal rage; and just like Clarissa, I too had to draw the line in the sand, speak my truth, and say that I would not continue down that road any longer.

As I wonder why I don't feel any better after having asserted my independence, I realize what I am feeling now is just fear of the unknown. Fear about the future is creeping in, which is a good sign, because it points to the fact that I am not tethered to a past dream, I am open and looking forward to what comes next. The next obvious question is, what comes next? This too, I do not know.

Some days I just want to be left alone, especially if I'm feeling grumpy or physically tired or when my muscles ache from an overly ambitious back bend. I often worry that as I get older I want/need more alone time. Some days turn into most days when I just don't want to be bothered by another person's need for small talk or clever repartee. Some days my vocal cords are in hibernation and refuse to leave the cave, no matter how insistent the plea may be. At the bagel shop, the book store, the market, it's just enough sometimes to say "yes, thank you, you too," and I always honor those polite social interactions, but some days it's minimal at best. I thought for a while that something was wrong with me, after all, the rest of the world seems perfectly cordial and willing to engage in idle chitchat. Why can't I? An old movie actress (Greta Garbo?) was known for her famous expression, "I just want to be left alone." If you're a movie star it seems acceptable to be reclusive and standoffish, but if you're an "ordinary" human being, it's just plain strange. I mean, God forbid if anyone goes against the grain in our homogenized culture. We are socialized to be group/community sensitive whether you feel like it or not. And I like people who are, I really do. I admire their ability to be cordial, if not annoying at times, in spite of my irritating rebellion. Thankfully, most days I can be one of "them," just not today. Today is one of those days...

Hello Blog World!

At the moment my belly is full of homemade Penne Bolognese, Caesar Salad, and Pinot Grigio, so I'm pretty happy if not slightly lethargic. I was inspired to make something completely different than the Tom Kha Soup and Jasmine rice that I had last night or the Sweet and Sour Pork with brown rice I had the night prior to that. You see, I've been on a cooking kick since I've had some time off and each night has been an excursion to some exotic land via my kitchen. I should add that at the beginning of every year I attempt to detox my system by eating only the basics like fruits and veggie soup, so after a week or so of that I needed to delve into some exotic/ethnic favorites.

For the past two years I've been on a mission to change my life. I had reached the end of my rope (career wise) and was back in school full-time, completing my Literature and Writing degree. At the onset of that decision I really believed I would end up teaching poetry at a college somewhere, but now, as I enter my final semester, I'm not so sure. I've discovered many things I know for certain I don't want to do or will never do again, but I've yet to find the "thing" I know for certain I want to do, except write.

Okay, some basics might help at this point. I am a poet, writer and foodie. I adore all three and the order changes according to my mood or the condition of my life. The name of this blog came to me the other day when I was walking or cleaning something, I can't quite remember. I kept thinking of the phrase, "the lives we find ourselves in," and it stuck and was developed into this blogspace, where I can ponder, rant, analyze and experiment with my writing life. I hope, if you're reading this, you find some nuggets of wisdom, a mountain of truth and a transparent spirit, willing to put it out there for you to (hopefully) relate to.

There are many things I hope to accomplish by keeping this blog, but you'll have to stay tuned for the entire (wish) list. I haven't quite decided if I will try to tackle each individually or post a grouping of items that are on the radar at the moment. What I do know is I will be faithful to this endeavor and attempt to revitalize this life I find myself in.

So with that, I shall end this one here by sending you many blessings and I thank you, my thoughtful reader, for stopping by.