Girls, Assassins & Other Bad Ideas {Release Party}
Category: friendship
A catfish tale, and why they matter…
{I’m giving this song back to you–it has always been true, in unconventional ways: I Knew I Loved You by Savage Garden}
Roughly a million years ago, back in the stone-aged time of the internet being relatively new, I was catfished. This was well before Nev Schulman coined the term, back when no one knew what to call it. I was fairly new to the likes of AOL, chat rooms, and all such things. I was also terrifyingly religious and lived in a constant state of inadequacy and shame. This was the late nineties and these were not such precious times for me.
It began as an argument in a Christian chat room. My husband worked the third shift, had moved us to the middle of nowhere, and had our only car with him in the city. He was also having an affair with a coworker, though I was pretty ignorant of that fact at the time. What I was painfully aware of was that I was lonely.
So lonely.
So there I was, attempting to navigate a chat room culture that I did not understand. On my second visit there I encountered a twenty-one-year-old guy named Blake. Blake’s girlfriend had committed suicide a few months before and their six-month-old daughter became his sole responsibility. The argument (about something so stupid I don’t even remember it) led to him apologizing a few days later. My heart broke for this kid, who was only a year and a half younger than I was. (I should point out that in addition to being lonely I was deeply depressed and wanted to be a mother more than anything in the world, but my body couldn’t allow that.)
Weeks of chatting and direct messaging led to emails, and eventually my very first late-night phone call with a stranger. The three-hour call met such an untapped ache in me, and that conversation will forever live in one of the top ten moments of my life. I had felt invisible and irrelevant for so long, and then for those three hours, I felt seen and heard.
It wasn’t romantic. I was married and I took my marriage very seriously. I knew the church wouldn’t approve of me growing in a platonic friendship with a guy, but I also knew he lived all the way in Iowa. What harm could come of it?
By the time I learned about my husband’s infidelity, and that he wanted to divorce me a pursue a life with her, things were heinous at home. Blake felt like my closest friend so it was in him who I confided in.
The day that I learned of the affair, I called his home and an old man answered. When I asked for Blake the old man very apologetically told me there was no one there by that name. This was when I first felt stupid that I’d been lied to, but as our relationship oddly continued, it didn’t matter that he was lying. When we’d speak, I would beg him to be honest, and over the years the stories changed to seriously ridiculous levels. For a tiny blip, somewhere in there, Blake told me that he was in love with me and I knew how I felt about him ran deep–despite so many lies. I cared about the most consistent person I had in my corner, and let me tell you this guy was not consistent.
For the most part, though, we were friends. Occasionally low moments would take conversations deeper to how we could have a life together and there was no love out there quite like ours. To be honest, it all felt so shameful then. We hadn’t fully gravitated, as a society, to online relationships yet. It felt foreign, a little forbidden, and super embarrassing. There were also levels of intimate conversation (not sexual) and depth that we were able to go–the sort of vulnerable conversations I had never allowed myself to have before. There was an actual connection, even amidst so much deceit, and I wanted the way that connection felt to be what my life one day felt like too.
Despite the lies, and eventually falling out of touch after years of on and off-again friendship, a part of me will always love Blake. When I look back at the VERY damaged and broken girl I was I cannot deny that this relationship led me through so much healing.
The lies… (Just to name a few)
- witness protection program.
- his daughter was kidnapped.
- his daughter died.
- he was in a debilitating car accident that left him disabled.
- he was a computer programmer and firewall expert.
- his father was the editor-in-chief of a major newspaper publication in Chicago.
- I found him chatting under the name Jamal once, claiming to be dying of cancer. People sent gifts to him and then I busted him when I went into a chat room under a different name and he eventually sent me his phone number. I called him and said, “busted”. He lied about Jamal being his cousin. It was a whole ridiculous thing… But it never mattered really. Maybe it’s selfish but I needed the friendship he gave. I needed his humor, the occasional distraction of him, and the undying belief and support he had in me. I needed those things, and in turn, I told myself that I could love him unconditionally.
So, I would remind him often that I didn’t want lies or details anymore, when we would make time to catch up it would just be us. I was there for him no matter what.
I am a very different person than I was those years ago, and I’m so grateful that the start of that growth was made possible by a pathological liar from Newton Iowa. This has been a mystery I long ago surrendered myself to never solving. How do you find a liar when you have a multitude of details, but no idea which ones are real and which ones aren’t?
It is because of Blake that I became a lover of the documentary, and eventually the series, Catfish. I love it. I love the mental health platform it takes regarding these people who lie, and the deeply empathetic journey into exploring why. So many times it is the same story: Lonely people. Broken people. Rejected people who don’t matter to others like they should. Sometimes this is their own doing, but often it isn’t. These stories remind us to see the people… I like to think that partly because of Blake I became empathetic toward others.
By complete accident, this weekend, information found me that may have solved a large part of the mystery of Blake. There were two people who lived at his address and phone number after his father died in 2003. He always told me it was him and his roommate. I’d heard the roommate’s voice and name spoken in their conversations many times… And then suddenly unsolicited information landed in my lap about a person born on the same day he’s said he was (only a decade earlier) who lived at the same address, who had recently passed away. Her name had appeared on my caller ID for years, to which “Blake” had said she was his cousin. Today I am fairly certain she was Blake. She had lived her whole life with her brother (roommate’s name) and their father until he died. Photos of her came up, confirming other little details, though I could never know for certain now that she’s gone. Her obituary both broke my heart and filled me with an immense sadness I hadn’t expected.
Today I’m grieving the life and death of a friend. I didn’t know her, but also I guess I did. At least in some ways. I’m sad she never told me the truth because I am such a champion of women and a believer in the magic of female friendships. I hope in recent years she was happy and felt so deeply loved.
One of the last phone conversations we’d had is around the time I’d started my memoir. It got quiet and then, almost inaudibly Blake asked if it was about him. I laughed and said that someday I’d write that book, but this one wasn’t it. I long ago suspected I’d never really tell the story at all because it made ME look desperate and a bit pathetic, but now I’m realizing it only makes us both look normal… human…
Sadly, lonely people are normal people.
Rest, my friend. I hope you’re at peace and that you realize how completely grateful I am for you. You sang this song over the phone for me once, as I sat on the front step of a friend’s house. I’m returning it back to you. Knowing you, and essentially loving you, truly changed my life. Thank you.
this is forty-six…
At 6:38 this evening I will turn forty-six.
Forty-Six.
We’ve been having the sort of conversations where we look back at points in our lives and say “wow, my parents seemed so old when we did _____________ but they were the age we are now!” or worse, “… but they were younger than we are now.”
This is just what we say now.
Age is such a funny thing really. There was a period of time when I was convinced I’d surely have my crap together by forty and yet I am here to tell you that as I wake today, turning six years past that point, my crap is most assuredly not together. Maybe we only really figure it all out when we’re about to be Game Over. It certainly feels that way.
I write this while I’m sipping an afternoon iced coffee and also subconsciously questioning the wisdom in such a decision. I’ve never been one for gambling, but at this stage in my adulthood every time I partake in coffee it feels like a giant game of dice rolling risk:
will it wake me up with an energy kick? (also, why am I so tired at 2 in the afternoon?)
will it destroy my stomach and leave me wishing I were dead?
will it do nothing?
I’d throw in other options for fun, but honestly, it will only be one of those three and more than likely the second one because this is who I am now.
Adulthood! Am I right???
When I was in my twenties and dreaming of big risks like skydiving, backpacking through a foreign country, or deep-sea diving I was certain by now I’d be collecting countless risky adventure stories and living my best life. Instead, I traded in every opportunity and desire for such things for a failed stint at motherhood. Today the biggest risks I’m likely to take look like sleeping with a new pillow or braving Costco on a Saturday.
Well, and iced coffee in the afternoon apparently…
Or the spicy Dominican restaurant I’ve heard so much about. (IYKYK)
Here’s the truth though–as much as I miss dreaming of carefree and life-threatening risks (not of the coffee variety) I’m pretty ok with where I m today. I’m ok with forty-six. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love this old neck of mine to be a bit more flexible with pillows, and I prefer Costco on a Tuesday evening, but of the deeper stuff… I’m a big fan.
I know who I am today, and that girl dreaming of jumping from an airplane had no clue who she was. It’s safe to say that up until a small handful of years ago I still hadn’t a clue, though I’d wager I was getting closer. I no longer need the approval of others. I no longer fear failure because I understand the necessity of it–the richness of it.
I spent so long, as a writer, angry at myself that I didn’t have it together enough to finish (and publish) a book. Yet today, as I gather promotional items, work on edits, and prepare for my memoir to release in August I realize that it came just when it should have. One year shorter and it would have been something less than it is.
At forty-six I can relax. I can comprehend that problems are not likely knitted with the urgency they once seemed to have been comprised of. At forty-six I’m sleeping better than I have ever slept, and carrying myself with more confidence than I ever have. It turns out that feeling confident has nothing to do with what size you wear, how not-grey your hair is, or how your economic status plays out in your portfolio. Who knew?
At forty-six I understand that moments truly are the beautiful bits that comprise a life. I’ve dealt with enough nonsense from others that I have no problems insisting on a boundary, cutting my losses, and moving on.
Last weekend we went to the Van Gogh exhibit with friends. I wore a flowy sheer-floral ruana and my biggest cocktail rings. At one point, mid-laughter, I asked how I was doing channeling my best Mrs. Roper vibes and laughter ensued. My husband lovingly assured me I wasn’t “even close” to Mrs. Roper, but suddenly I realized I didn’t care if others thought I was. I didn’t care. I was comfortable, filled with joy, and living my best life. If that screams Mrs. Roper’s appearance then more power to us both!
I love floral dresses, floral coverups, and giant gemstone jewelry.
I love crystals, tarot cards, Jesus, Dan Levy, and puppies.
I am who I am and the biggest gift about being this age is accepting that and not changing my interests based on what is trending or someone else’s approval.
Wherever you’re at today, and however you are, I hope you can love yourself and accept this moment as authentically as it is. This has to be the definition of truly living because otherwise–what’s the point???
the magic quadrant…
When I logged on to my WordPress account today to lay out a few small words within this often neglected space I saw the words Magic Quadrant. Magic Quadrant... As I quickly clicked through the pages my brain took in those words just as the screen changed. I quickly assumed it was in relation to some WP-related workshop or other, but honestly, I don’t know.
Clearly, I found the words intriguing. Suddenly what I had expected to fill these lines with had floated away–my mind instead consumed with Magic Quadrant.
A quick consult with Alexa tells me that this is a series of market research reports published by IT consulting firm Gartner that involve some sort of data analysis regarding marketing… this point in her delivery of the information I requested is when my eyes glazed over and my ears filled with music similar to that of the Academy Awards when they are rudely trying to get winners to stop talking. It seems as though a group of people pulling together reports on data of any sort would come up with a better name than Magic Quadrant.
Magic Quadrant sounds to me like a sweet spot. And maybe, in laymen’s terms, that’s what we’re talking about here.
I get certain aspects of marketing. I understand, with someone who has something to sell, I need to identify my ideal customer and decipher what the need they have is, so I can meet it. I get all of that… But then, other people just like me are talking about SEO words and I’ll be honest: Cue glazed eyes and Oscar orchestra because I’m done.
I want to be the author who tells the truth about life–my life, and life happening all around me. I want to share not the dry data of events, but how they feel and why they matter. I want to focus on the power of story, the power of healing, the power of empathy, rest, genuine self-care, and acting love. I don’t want to craft posts around trending words that bring people to this space. I don’t want to conform my writing to what is attracting the most buzz. I want this space to be a quiet, restful space where those who come here know they will be safe to read, process, and might just leave with something that balms something in them which burned a little before they got here.
The true Magic Quadrant.
My way feels a little less dirty, although the other way isn’t at all dirty either, it just doesn’t feel like me.
This may be why I’ll probably never be a best-seller or make it onto many book lists. I think I’ve had to grow to the point where I’m ok with that. Early on writers are taught to want one of the big publishing houses to buy their book, and to dream of the NYT bestseller list… For a long, long time those were the things I believed I wanted too, because these were the things I was taught to chase if I wanted to be a writer.
I no longer want those things.
Whether it is five or five-hundred thousand people who read my blog, listen to my show, or buy my book, I want it to matter. I want it to feel like a genuine moment of intimacy followed by a good friend wrapping a blanket around their shoulder and reassuring them–There there… You’re ok, and even when it doesn’t feel like it you’re not alone. This space is safe and warm, real and connected…
It turns out my magical space is far more fairy-twinkle lights, steaming mugs of tea, and cozy blankets than the data would allow, and I this feels right for me.
what I’ve learned this year…
I don’t know about you but I’m not quite feeling ’22… Not yet anyway. For the first time in my four-plus decades of life, I am cautiously wary of transitioning into a new year. That may not be one hundred percent accurate… I was also fairly hesitant during the last few moments of 1999 as well, but I digress…
When I reflect back on the idea of what I’ve learned this year, it’s hard. The year feels like a thick, gooey, peanut butter fudge all mixed together with the year before somehow. Sort of like–what is 2021 anyway? At any rate, I’ll attempt to narrow down a list of life lessons from the twelve-month journey of this complicated year. If you happen to be a part of my tight-knit little circle and know I’m dipping into the wisdom gained from the craptastic year that proceeded this one, feel free to let me know. (Although to be fair, I’m one of those people who learns the same thing again and again, because somehow I tend to forget.)
What I learned this year:
- There is not an aspect of life that isn’t improved by being connected to a community of people.
- While I love our cat Darcy, whom we rescued the day she was born (in 2020) I am simply not a cat person. I’m not… I may love the random cat videos, and pet the cats of dear friends, but personally I just can’t surrender to being a cat lover in general. So many “cat habits” grate my nerves. Again though, I adore Darcy so much and do have a deep affection for the feral cats we feed and shelter…
- I’m a slow reader. Chw insists I used to read much faster, and maybe it’s true. Perhaps years of chronic illness and medication induced brain fog have robbed me of that ability. For a long time I felt guilty for being a slower reader than many others I know. It felt embarassing. I am no longer taking on ownership of that guilt or embarassment. I am a slow reader. I’m a savorer. Every so often I encounter a book that I can’t put down, and I read all night. While I love those rare treats, I’m also chronically fatiqued and it simply isn’t practical or condusive to my health. I am ok savoring a book.
- As I’ve continued my religious deconstruction journey (heading into the seventh year… Does it ever get easier? No. Is it worth it? YES!) I’ve began to realized that I am most whole and at home within the boundaries of connection. I find God there. Whether I am connecting with my Creator through creativity, barefoot in the depth of a forest, toes deep in beach sand, eyes raised to the mountain, or gazing up at a starry sky–it is that connection that drives me. Likewise, in the connections I share with people, God dwells. Sometimes this shows up through beautiful conversations, intense laughter, shared tears, and mutual experiences. Other times this looks like stepping up to love someone else where they are at, however they need. It is in these realizations that I’ve learned I never felt even close to this sort of connection within the confines of the church. With my many moves and church experiences, there is only ONE place which came the closest and this place was where I called “home” as this deconstruction began. Of all the Church “friends” I’ve known, I also know that body of people would be the only ones supporting me where I’m at today. I spent years searching for the things that I got from that space, and always left lacking. Religion would tell you that “church shopping” is a sin, and that the lacking was less about the church and more about my wicked heart…
- BUT I’ve learned that is a lie. I believe that I am a created being, created by a loving creator. Of course I connect to Them within the beautiful spaces They created. Of course I feel Them in my core as I connect with, and love other people. It is a cruel deception to argue that in favor of oppression, manipulation, and judgement.
- Likewise, I’ve learned to ask questions. I’ve learned to research and probe. To wonder why I was taught something was “bad”, and what that translated word or phrase actually says. Enlightening.
- I have grown in my love of tactile things. Of paper and texture–things held in my fingertips.
- For years I believed I could not do artistic things, and it was true. I could not, because I did not try. I did not try because I had foundational years of people telling me I was no good so why embarass myself? No more. Today I do the creative things. I’m sketching, painting, stitching…
- I lost my mother and aunt this year, along with nine other people close to me (or very close to people I love deeply) and it was hard. Harder than hard. I learned how to grieve alongside others as I navigated my own sea. I learned, once again, that there isn’t a portion of life that isn’t made richer by community. Grief is only isolating because we are conditioned to grieve alone.
- Having been suicidal for a time (years ago), and knowing three people who died by suicide (also years ago) I learned a lot about suicide this year. What it really looks like to be close to it. Part of what I needed to let go of, and reeducate myself on was stuff instilled during those foundational religious years. Again: lies.
- I’ve learned a group of women of various culteral backgrounds and ethnicities can share an intimate connection. Some of these women can love Jesus, some can be Athiests, and a few can be a little witchy, and that none of these differences change a thing. In fact, this love and community is stronger for not letting them divide us. This isn’t what we are taught, but even so it’s what I’ve learned.
- I’ve let go of my fear of the word witch. In fact, I’ve learned that the very things women did which had them labelled as such during the puritanical era involved things conservative families embrace now. Meditation, herbs, holistic medicine, essential oils, plant based sustinance, affirmations, self nurturing… these are all things that women were once killed for. Looking to the stars and paying attention to the changes in the moon caused women to be labelled devil worshippers. It’s interesting really, because men navigating the seas and seasons by stars was acceptable, even when the ships they sailed brought over people of Color to be abused and enslaved. (This is something the church should have always been against, isn’t it?) Modern medicine states the pull of the moon can effect us in many health and mental health ways. After all, we know the moon has an incredible affect on our waters, and aren’t we mostly made up of water? If my growing education in natural ways, the effects of the moon, the practice of hollistic things, and my belief in self-care and affirmations makes me a witch, I’ll claim it.
- Fun fact (that I learned) Christian Witches are a thing! Who knew?!?!
- The word witch has such a negative conatation, and it’s innaccurate. Each one of those things is divinely feminine in nature… Could it be that was the problem all along?
- I’ve learned I prefer tea to coffee, and that I prefer that tea with sugar cubes. Infused sugar cubes are even better.
- I’m learning (because I’m not quite there yet) to love myself as I am. Having once put my body through intense hell in an effort to take weight off, I have come to believe that was a mistake. Ironically the consequences of that decision have left my health a mess. Even more fun is that due to those issues, and endocrinal issues already present, much of that lost weight has come back. It’s frustrating. I’m tired. I’m sad, but I’m learning to love and accept myself as I am.
- I learned that while I am a beautiful writer, I am not a well educated one. My foundational education, while heavily focussed in Biblical teaching and obedience training, did not do much for teaching me the skills I should have learned like math and grammar. Combine that with the afore mentioned brain fog and well, I’ve seen a lot of frustrationt this year. (As has my editor.) She has been so patient with me and we have really grown from the experience. After the new year I’ll be getting to know my Publisher’s editor and start that process all over again. Truthfully? I’m terrified. In fact, if I think about it too much I feel sick. BUT, I have to keep reminding myself that we all want the same thing: for this book to be out in the world and in the hands of people.
- This year my word was AND. I learned to accept results of my hard work or goals, and then reach for more. Additionally, when my nostalgia made me sad about things which have been over for a long time (especially when I may wish they weren’t) AND reminded me that I can grieve and ache for a different outcome while also remembering boundaries and the reasons why it’s best as it is.
- I learned that I could rewrite the majority of my book in seven days, if asked by the publisher I had my heart set on. I had no idea I was capable of that. (Brain fog be damned!)
- This year I learned that I can be a sleeper. I’ve struggled with sleep for the majority of my life, and had grown to exhaustedly believe sleep just wasn’t meant for me. I was wrong. I researched, educated myself, and by trial and error have learned how to sleep well.
- I learned that while I LOVE TikTok, I do not love making them. (nor do I have to.)
- I learned that I have zero patience for the the Let’s Go Brandoners, the passionately anti-vaxxers, or the people who go about life like normal while being covid positive because “no one has really died from it.” Yes they have. We know several of them. Listen, I support your right to deny the vaccine. It’s your body, your choice (100% of the time) but this illness is real. People are dying, and others have had their lives impacted in devestating ways from it. If you don’t want to get the vaccine, social distance. Wear a mask in public. Keep yourself safe. Limit interactions so you don’t get sick, or carry it to someone else. I am triple vaxxed and I social distance. I wear a mask in public. I care about your safety as much as my own. (The LGBers though? GO AWAY! You’re loud, obnoxious, self-centered, and ridiculous. That this nonsense is happening in churches and is rampant through church communities only affirms my decision to walk away.) You don’t have to love our president, but don’t be a dick.
I’m sure I’ve learned more. Already this is longer than I expected… A hard year? Yes. A sad year? Resoundingly. But also a year of solid growth and accomplishment. (or should I say AND a year of solid growth…)
rainydayinmay.com 