Ex-Boyfriend Encounters. Sort-of.

Hi lovelies! A friend did a blog post today about running into ex-boyfriends and asked us to share our ex-boyfriend stories. I've had a few awkward encounters, but this one, while not entirely about an ex-boyfriend of mine, was one I thought worth sharing.

I had recently turned eighteen years old when a woman I had been babysitting for off and on for six years asked if I could watch her kids overnight.  I really liked their family, so I agreed to it.

I got to her home and we were catching up a bit before they left on their getaway, and she asked if I was dating anyone.  I told her about a guy I’d just met, who I'll just call "Dave". We hadn’t gone out yet, but Dave had gotten my phone number and said he’d call me. 

Turns out she knew him, and upon hearing this asked, “Do you know how old he is?” 

 

Now, Dave did strike me as older than any other guy I'd gone out with, but that didn’t really bother me at the time because I (naively) fancied myself super-mature and able to hold my own with anyone. Besides, he was quite good-looking, in that George Clooneyish kind of way. The type that could have claimed any age within a twenty-year span and you could credibly believe it. Also, he seemed to be well-off, based on his car and wardrobe...which had it's own kind of appeal.  The fact that he was older and still single was probably just indicative that he was looking for the right woman. And lo, that might just be me, I reasoned.

In fact, Dave himself had asked me how old I thought he was when we met (which was at a church singles dance). I admit I was low-balling it to be polite when I said 29, to which he replied “Close. I’m 31″.

I hadn’t ever dated a man that much older than me (Would have been jail bait till just a couple months before.) (Though not, actually, because I was, after all, a virtuous Mormon girl.)

So I told the friend I was babysitting for “He’s thirty-one″, to which she laughed out loud and shared the following story, related to her by her sister Karen, who knew all the parties involved:

Karen had gone to school and worked with Dave for many many years and knew him well. When he was in college, Dave had a girlfriend named Jane for a couple years. Jane loved Dave and wanted to take their relationship to the next level, but it seems Dave was something of a ladies' man, and when it became clear that he wasn’t interested in settling down, they parted ways and life moved on. 

Jane met and married a wonderful guy, and they raised a family together. One evening Jane’s daughter, now 19 years old, was upstairs getting ready to go out on a date. The doorbell rang, Jane opened the door, and was surprised to see her ex-boyfriend Dave, whom she hadn't seen in twenty-four years, standing there.

Dave, upon seeing Jane, seemed flustered, and stammered out a greeting followed by some lame excuse about "just being in the neighborhood and thinking he’d stop by and say hi and see how she was doing", but that "something had come up and he had to go". He wished her well and abruptly left.  "That was bizarre", Jane thought to herself as she shut the door.

A few minutes later her daughter comes downstairs to wait for her date to arrive. A little time passes, the date hasn't shown up. Jane asks her daughter "Who are you going out with tonight?"  Her daughter tells her the date's name. 

Sure enough, it's Jane's old college boyfriend, Dave.  Dave, who who was still out there, playing the field, chasing one girl after another for all these years, while a whole lifetime had passed for Jane as she raised her family. 

Needless to say, after hearing this story from my friend, who informed me that Dave was actually forty-eight years old (!), I didn’t return his call when he rang to ask me out. But I couldn’t avoid him a couple months later when he cornered me at the punch bowl during another dance. 

“You didn’t return my calls!” he says with a flirty grin. 

“You lied to me about your age”, I stated, looking him straight in the eye. 

"Yeah, I heard you found out about that", he cheekily responds “But how could I tell you my actual age when you thought I was 29?” 

“How can you attempt to start out any kind of relationship with a flat-out lie? To say nothing about what on earth a 48 year old would want with an 18 year old. Let me guess. Was it my keen mind that fascinated you?” 

A few months later I met the guy who would eventually become my husband…he was 5 months younger than me, and it probably wasn’t my keen mind that fascinated him, either, but at eighteen, that was understandable. At least he wasn't two years older than my father!

So, tell me your ex-boyfriend encounters. Any good ones?

India: Part 2

Three months ago, I ran at a flat-out sprint from the NYC subway, to the JFK Air Train, from the Air Train to Terminal 5, through security, and finally reaching the departure gate for my flight home,  just as the agent was preparing to shut the door.  Whew!

Grateful to have made it (after grossly miscalculating how much of a delay there would be getting to the airport due to the NYC Marathon that day), I sank breathlessly into my window seat, while apologizing to the two people next to me that I'd just climbed over, who were no doubt hoping that they'd have the row to themselves. (I always feel guilty when I get a window seat and a paying customer is in the middle.) (I have often offered to switch seats, when I'm feeling compassionate.)  (I was completely exhausted that day, and had firm plans to sleep the entire way home.) (That didn't happen.)

We struck up a conversation, the three of us, and in a singular occurrence in all my flying (which is eleven years this month) (!!!!), we ended up talking the entire flight.  Our conversation continued through deplaning, down to baggage claim, then outside till they got in a cab for their hotel.

Turned out V and M (as I'll refer to them here) were newlyweds, and they'd been enroute for about 26 hours at that point, traveling from their home in India where where he is from and where they now live, to the states where she is from.  

When I found out they were coming from India, I of course lit up. In fact, I likely started gushing.  "I love India! I love the food, the people. I've loved the movies and plays set in India that I've seen. I've read books by Indian authors. I don't know why, but I just love India." (which love commenced as described in my last post). 

Meeting them was serendipitous because, as an American woman who had traveled around India, and who now lives there, M is uniquely positioned to give me tips on when and where to go, what to see, and advise on the Safety Factor (which became a concern for me after watching Slumdog Millionaire). She's also a Mormon, like me, so we had that additional connection.  I got out my laptop and began taking notes on everything they said, presuming this was my one big chance to get an inside scoop.

I don't know if I've ever been more captivated than I was during those hours that we flew across the continent, sharing their hummus, salsa and chips (grateful, as I was completely starving) and learning about how they met (at at TED Conference of all places! I'm crazy about TED talks...as my regular readers may know), and getting to know them.

And then somehow, early in the conversation, I discovered something amazing:
V grew up knowing Mother Theresa. 

I was actually SITTING NEXT TO someone who had not only met, but KNEW Mother Theresa!  (I shook his hand, so if you like, you can be 2 hand-shakes away from shaking hers.) 

V's grandfather had, as it turned out, managed all the finances for Mother Theresa's organization for many many decades, and is still involved even though she passed away in 1997.  I couldn't believe it. I briefly mentioned my dream, and he shared some anecdotal stories with me that he knew about her.

I painted a miniature picture of my peacock.
This is actual size.

The time flew quickly by.  When we landed, V pulled our bags down from the overhead bin, and then surprised me by presenting me with a blue velvet box. "We have a gift for you" he said, handing it to me. How they could have a gift for me when we'd just met on the plane was apparently beside the point. Inside was a beautiful silver peacock figurine. I have always loved the colors of the peacock (beta fish, too), and this little guy was so pretty.  What a thoughtful gesture!

We exchanged contact info, vowing to keep in touch. They invited us to visit them in India, which increases the likelihood of me going there exponentially, (I enjoy knowing people in the places I visit. Adds depth and richness to the experience.) and we parted ways. I assumed it would be quite some time before we saw each other again.

But happily, an opportunity presented itself just last month. V had to come to the states again, and we had the pleasure of starting off 2012 by hosting him during his visit. 

We had a wonderful time, going for a hike in our lovely canyon, visiting the lights at Temple Square, eating gelato, and just learning more about him, his lovely wife M, and India in general. Both of them are now on the list of people I know who are doing amazing things with their lives. Who make a difference in the world (it's quite an impressive list). 

It fascinates, inspires, and also frustrates me...since I can't seem to zero in on what direction to focus my energies, to still be stumped about what course I should pursue with my free time, and with the next phase of my life (which will be upon me in six short years when Gator graduates). But a conversation at dinner one evening gave me a tiny glimpse into one way to figure it out. I asked V, "how did you decide to get involved in and do the specific things that you are doing with your time and resources?" 

Bunch, V, and Doc on our hike in Millcreek Canyon

(note: I had researched him before he came to stay with us...a point I admitted to him openly since I knew I'd want to ask him about them, and also to let him know that I'm not in the habit of bringing random people into my home who might be creepers, even though there was honestly no possibility of that with him...you just know when you meet some people. You know? Should also note that M has an impressive record of actively making the world a better place, too. They're quite a pair. In my searching, I had discovered an array of things that he is involved in that he'd likely never have mentioned himself because of his modest nature.)

Anyway, his reply was the first thing that has given me a glimmer of insight: "I think it primarily comes down to the experiences I've had in my life, because of my family, and what I was exposed to." 

This comment brought to mind a statement made by a man named Henry Eyring, about a time when he was taught that our experiences aren't just for ourselves, and was instructed to "write them down" so he could share them with others.  

This led me think that perhaps my experiences, those things that I have learned and
gone through that have shaped and formed me into the person I am today, maybe those are somehow connected to what I should do with the next phase of my life. 

I had a lot of momentum a few years ago when I began writing a memoir (inspired by Jeanette Walls The Glass Castle, because her book really changed my life), which fizzled out for a number of reasons that I won't delineate right now, but a big one is that I still have work to do on that journey of healing. But perhaps something in that realm, using what I've gone through and overcome to help others in the same situation? I don't know for sure yet, but it was nice to have some tiny spark of inspiration.

I gave the miniature painting of Philippe the Peacock to V and M, as a thank you/reminder of our serendipitous encounter and the resultant friendship.  I'm hoping that in the next year or so we'll be able to make it over to see them and experience India first hand (maybe someone will be able to teach me how to make naan and cook makhani and tikka masala sauce to rival that found at my favorite restaurant, Bombay House) (and maybe I'll get to have my own, bona fide Mother Theresa experience).

And that's the story, people. You just never know what's around the bend, do you?

India

I have a kind of crush on India. The first time I had anything to do with India was about thirteen years ago.  We were living in Chicago while Doc was working on his Ph.D.  One night I had a dream...one of those exceptionally vivid dreams that (at least for me) are so rare. Most nights, whatever dreams I may have had fade away and are long gone by the time I awake. I'll go years without being aware of any dreams whatsoever.  

But this night was strange and unique. In my dream I was shadowing Mother Theresa as she went about her work in the slums of Calcutta, and I was REALLY excited (in my dream) because I knew that at the end of the day I was going to find out the answer to a burning question that had been (in my dream) plaguing me, which is, How does an essentially selfish person like me become like her?  I.e.,  how does someone get from a life that is good, to a life of greatness, as measured by the condition of one's heart?  And I was SO excited to know (in the dream) that at the end of the day I'd be given this secret information.  

So we worked, Mother Theresa and I, side by side all the day long, and then it was time. She told me that my answer was going to be given to me as soon as I went through a particular door, and ushered me toward it. I reached out to open the door,

and then I woke up. (you totally didn't see that coming, did you? Neither did I.)

Anyway, I was SO upset! As soon as I awoke, I tried desperately to claw my way back into sleep, back into this fascinating dream, to rewind and let myself pick it up again, anywhere, that would lead me back to the door and to the answer to this important question (that, until my dream, I had never wondered about before).  

But I never did get there.

Mother Theresa with some of her children.

Now at that time, I wouldn't have been able to pick Mother Theresa out of a three-person line up. I honestly knew nothing about her, except that she worked with the poor. This dream had so much information in it that I had never known before. It was in every way vivid and realistic...with smells and sights that were totally out of my experience in life.  It was kind of freaky, honestly.

I remember mentioning it to my neighbor and dear friend, Ann, and it was her reaction to my dream that impressed upon me that it was a kind of significant dream. I had never (and kind of still don't) attached any special significance to dreams...though I've had a handful of them in my life that seem like they are kind of in a class of their own in terms of information or meaning. But it was this dream that started my (continuing) crush with India. 

I read all the books I could find at the time about Mother Theresa, none of which were that compelling in my opinion. Though I gained some factual information about her life and work, they were missing the heart somehow. They didn't manage to inspire or motivate one to action of any sort...which is what I think I was expecting or hoping they'd do.

My disappointment about waking up before making it into The Room With The Answer was mollified another night not too long afterward, when I was up with my crying baby.  Pacing the moonlit room, I noticed a book on my piano, open to a song which I hadn't taken particular notice of before. As I gently bounced my baby in my arms, the words jumped off the page and into my heart.  It wasn't a huge mystery, this answer I sought.  It was something I'd been taught my whole life, summed up nicely in the words of a children's hymn:

I’m trying to be like Jesus; I’m following in his ways.
I’m trying to love as he did, in all that I do and say.
At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice,
But I try to listen as the still small voice whispers, 

“Love one another as Jesus loves you. Try to show kindness in all that you do.
Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought, For these are the things Jesus taught.”

I’m trying to love my neighbor; I’m learning to serve my friends.
I watch for the day of gladness when Jesus will come again.
I try to remember the lessons he taught. Then the Holy Spirit enters into my thoughts, saying

“Love one another as Jesus loves you. Try to show kindness in all that you do.
Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought, For these are the things Jesus taught.”

Love. Kindness. Gentleness. Remembering. Serving. The simple, everyday things. The stuff of life. The things we can all do, for everyone we encounter in some small way, even if it's just letting your eyes smile into another's. It took my strange dream to start thinking about this in a new way.

That dream was just the beginning of my India Crush. It would be another seven years or so before I discovered Indian food (oh my word! chicken makhani, tikka masala, naan, basmati rice...I Love You Most Of All!), and slowly, other aspects of India would find their way into my life until I found myself fascinated and both enchanted and terrified of the whole of India (but mostly fascinated.)  (I saw Slumdog Millionaire on a plane...hence the the enchanted and terrified part).

The Abyssal Zone*

Hey guys, Doc said he missed me writing on my blog, so here is something I wrote:

sometimes I wish it were
the actual ocean
because that’s what it feels like
sometimes

it’s dark
and heavy
and the pressure increases
the deeper i sink

it’s cold
and lonely
dangerous and vast
and has the potential to kill

it’s even salty and wet
(when the tears won’t stop flowing)
sometimes i can’t seem to
get enough air

but it's not the ocean
and i don’t actually drown
no peace greets me
from a realm known for light

because i keep on fighting
to reach the surface
while the lifeguard watches me struggle
from afar

eventually i claw my way up to the beach
where the sun dries and warms me
(at least till the next high tide
drags me back under)

 Some days this is just how it is, peeps.

* The Abyssal Zone