A nice dinner and a little walk primes my pump for a kiss. When you meet someone on the internet you already know quite a bit about them and you like them. So the face to face meeting is a little different from meeting for the first time and kissing. I have had four kisses in parking lots this past year and they were all very good and led to absolutely nothing.
Joe looked like a great prospect because he reminded me of my old boyfriend. We had Mexican Food and talked about his service in Vietnam. He knew things. His job was intense now and he was still part of an operational team that was focused and severe except now he was selling commercial kitchen fixtures. I liked his bravery and as we walked around the block I told him he was lucky to have survived.
“I just know how to run fast.” That is what I liked to hear. He wasn’t out to do anyone harm while he sidestepped thru the puddles and over the curbs nicely. We held hands and I felt safe with him as the evening drew to a close and he walked me back to my truck. When we kissed it was strong and satisfying. I touched him and he invited me back to his place. It was very tempting. He lived just a few blocks away. But I zoomed off in my truck and never saw him again. I was glad I hadn’t slept with him and never heard from him. Apparently he was one of those fellows who is just too busy being part of a team to see the value of one little lady’s attention.
After watching one too many Good Morning America interviews, my mother came to the conclusion “Hayley, you’re just like Taylor Swift.” Outright sounded like a compliment as Taylor Swift is pretty, talented and rich, but it wasn’t. She meant that I was just like Taylor Swift in the sense that I too keep getting my heart broken and dumped by guys though, like Taylor Swift, I too am somewhat talented and successful (on a much smaller scale of course 😉 ). The similarities are endless because like Taylor Swift, my “art” is inspired by my life. What would I write about if I didn’t have so many dating horror stories? And why do people like me and Taylor Swift keep getting dumped? The answer lies within the heart chakra.
He came to the store where I worked and before he spoke, I recognized him as the person I had been talking to on the internet. He was very tall and quiet black gentleman with big doe eyes and he wanted me badly.
His wife was distant. She was an alcoholic and that was the big elephant in the room that no one talked about in his house. At the time I didn’t know what that meant. Now I do and I sympathize with him. We met again at a coffee shop in the eclectic part of town where I lived. I liked him. Smart, responsible and sexy. He was a chef at a downtown hotel and he had started that profession by just walking in to a place that had a “dishwasher wanted” sign in the window. From there, he worked his way up to head chef.
Have you noticed that there is a certain abandon to someone who lives outside the box? I have always enjoyed the characters of this world and the relationships I have had with the crazy ones involve mind blowing sex. There is something about someone who can let loose of the norms of society and give their all to passion that ignites a spark in me. People who are sane and able to sustain life in a normal manner usually do not turn me on.
It takes a leap of faith to jump into a sexual relationship. So many people are afraid of that intensity. Isn’t that why we are in these bodies? Aren’t we here to enjoy these pleasures? The monks of the world would tell me that the spiritual bliss they experience with their meditation is a hundred times as powerful as lowly sex. I beg to differ. The joy of two bodies coming together trumps all in my book and if that means I’m crazy then so be it.
Having a drink and transcending this reality is a sign that you are close to the edge. Taking a hike up a dangerous mountain so that you can jump off it with a para-glider is crazy. But can you imagine the thrill? Having an art show in the center of the city or publishing a novel that the whole world will read is a high that can’t be imagined. Hard work will make you high. Crazy to give it all up for fame and fortune. Crazy to want to lay in bed with someone who can give you intense pleasure. Crazy does it good.
"Vehicles" Suzanne Smith 2012
Johnny Stewart in the back of his friend’s car in the early sixties is a vivid one because it was my first kiss. Our teeth clicked. We snuggled into the green plush seat back in that old car and sped along the back roads on the Island of Guam. Johnny was an airman on the base where my Dad worked and he was a lifeguard at the pool on base. I was an avid swimmer. I am so glad he was my first kiss. That was my first memory of men in vehicles.
Then there was a ride back from the casino to my mother’s house with a fellow in the back of another fellow’s truck. The three of us had so much fun. This particular evening we were rocking and rolling around in the back of that truck and I’m thinking I am way too old to be doing this. I didn’t want to screech to a halt in front of my mom’s house so I banged on the truck window to let me out a block away. Disheveled, I said good night. Mom never knew. She didn’t know I did it another time with those two guys in her guest room where I was staying. We were all three very quick and sly. I could see her down the street talking to a friend. I miss those crazy guys. One worked for Amtrak and the other is an Artist. It sounds like we were teens but we were all in our fifties.
Most artists in this country are greatly under-appreciated. When I refer to most artists, I am not talking about the musicians and actors who are bringing home multimillion dollar paychecks each year. No. I’m talking about the artists who are barely getting by and if they’re lucky, still living in their parent’s basements. These artists are hanging onto their last thread of identity, uselessly dragging their fingernails through the sand as the undertow of conformity threatens to pull them in at any moment. They are almost drowning, almost. They are tired. Tired of rejection, tired of trying, and most of all tired of fighting the culture of conformity; an entity that berates their life’s choices at every opportunity. Most give up, some drown, but a small percentage hang in there, hoping that each new day might be the day that they get their big break.
The pressure to conform is immense. It does not just come from “well-meaning” friends and family who think the solution to the artist’s problems is to get a regular 9-to-5 like everybody else. These people do not understand the call the artist is pursuing to begin with. What they’ve noticed is that the artist in their life is struggling; that they don’t have health insurance and barely enough money to pay for gas. In their eyes, these dilemmas are reason enough for the artist to give up on their unrealistic pursuit, their dream, and get a real job. And they view the artistic pursuit as just that: a dream. To them, the artist’s goal of sharing their art with the world is an unattainable fantasy.
There are some who might say that I have had way too many sexual partners in my life. I have been tested and do not have any STD’s, yet I know I have taken chances. I think it has been a rather normal progression of people in my life and I like to think I have played it safe. I look back at the journals I wrote during those times and I wonder what I was thinking. I know I was imagining that this was the way to love. My journey and documenting the stops continue to this day and I feel close to some personal truths. My path is not for everyone but I don’t regret my life.
I had been divorced after twenty five years because the sex was terrible. That really was the bottom line in addition to religious, personality and astrological differences. So when I was free I went looking. I actually found an affair while I was still married. The Internet swept me into a world that still intrigues me. Bruce was my first fellow and he gave me the kisses I was missing. My ex is still a fine friend but I needed more. I found it and never looked back.
Filed under Addiction, Art, Dating, Destiny, Dreams, Heart, Love, Passion, relationships, Sex, Uncategorized, Writing
Today I flunked out of self-esteem class. And no. I’m not joking.
“I just don’t think I can get through to you. Don’t take it personally, but here’s a list of other therapists that might be a better fit. It was nice meeting you.” Are you serious? Good thing I didn’t take it personally- that would’ve been very detrimental to my self-esteem.
Upon hearing of my expulsion from self-esteem class, my other counselor -the one who recommended me for self-esteem classes- subtly asked me not to come back. I told her what he’d said and how I was confused as to what he meant by he couldn’t get through to me. I am not a child. I didn’t misbehave. I took the class seriously. As we conversed and continued to talk about other things she seemed to become very irritated with me.
Filed under Dating, Domestic Violence, Friendship, Fun, Growth, Healing, Heart, Inspirational, Life Lessons, Motivation, Passion, relationships
Many of us consider ourselves our own worst critics, and I used to think so, too. I was always so hard on myself to the point of perfectionism. Then one day I smoked salvia, no joke, and began to see things differently. I started to realize that other people’s opinions of me and what they thought I should be doing were so imbedded into my mind that their expectations became stronger than my own wants and needs. I inevitably realized that the self criticism which tortured my mind for years was not in response to my voice, but in actuality was self-criticism and self-punishment for not living up to expectations of others. Slowly I began to eliminate their opinions.
If you have felt this type of guilt, and thought this way, the truth is, you’re not really disappointing anyone through your actions. These people are only disappointed in you (when your actions differ from their vision of what you should be doing) because they are losing control of you. These are not friends, nor are they people you should be taking advice from.
Think back to the things you always beat yourself up over. Do you beat yourself up over failures that caused you disappointment or are you being hard on yourself for not living up to other people’s desires for who you are and who you should be? I guarantee that the majority of failures and things you hold against yourself belong to the latter category.
You know who you truly are and who you want to be. Don’t let other people muddle your thoughts. Speak your truth and people of substance will appreciate your wisdom. We are not on this Earth to regurgitate what others expect us to regurgitate. When we do this, we lose our identity and certainly cheat everyone out of what we truly have to offer.
“Why die a copy when you were born an original?”
This is my newest piece on The Huffington Post. It is about the most important virtue one must have to be successful. One of my favorite examples of someone who never gave up is Susan Boyle.
A few years ago, at a local dive, I ran into a few girls I had gone to middle school with. One of them was a local actress. We spoke about our artistic pursuits. Both of us, about 22 at the time, had reached some sort of slump. Acting was such a tough business to break into that she had finally decided to enroll in a local state college to study psychology.
And just a few nights ago, I watched from my living room as she performed on the Tony Awards.
It turns out that not long after our meeting, she got her big break when the producers of “Hairspray” needed to replace the headliner. She was perfect for the lead, and since “Hairspray,” she has continued to go on to bigger and better things.
The worst thing you can ever do is give up, especially if you are bluffing and intend to eventually go back to what you started. As a writer and artist, I received many rejection letters over the years. After I got rejected from MFA programs, I was so discouraged that I stopped writing for six months. The road had been bumpy even before the subsequent MFA rejections started to come in. Before finishing my undergraduate degree, I began asking my professors to write me letters of recommendation. When I asked one of my professors, one that I respected the most, for a recommendation for MFA programs, he laughed in my face. I told him that I wanted to be a professor. He told me not to bother and to “just go teach elemetary school or something.”
Read the rest of the post here.