Floor...

When my model days ended and it was time for me to begin my first day on the floor, Cyndi decided that my first one will be on Tuesday December 29th and then it’ll switch to Sundays. There are certain criteria I have to meet in order to earn my second day then more criteria to earn my third and fourth days. I work toward earning each day over the course of four weeks. The rest of the time, I’m assisting. I’m glad that my first day back to work after our Christmas break will be spent in Evanston cutting hair. I’m scared though. Scared of everything. There will be no more help from my educators. I don’t know what I’m going to walk into when I get there. I don’t know if my books are full. I’m nervous that I may not be able to handle a situation, or that I might get stuck on something and not know where to go from there. I stare out the window of the Unicorn Café, watching bundled up people walk by. Something a friend I met in OA told me pops in my head. We were both stressing about returning to our homes over Christmas and she told me to imagine God waiting for me at the terminal when I landed in Atlanta. Imagine him holding my hand through whatever it was that was scaring me. When she said this, an image of Rob smiling at me as I exited the terminal entered my mind and flooded my eyes with tears. Now sitting in the coffee shop, I begin to imagine that once I walk in the salon door, he’ll be standing at my station, never leaving me with something I’m not equipped to handle. Worrying about this isn’t solving anything. Maybe I’ll be booked, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll have crazy clients, maybe I won’t. I remind myself that the bottom line is that no matter what, things are going to happen the way they’re supposed to. I just can’t see the outcomes yet and that’s ok. I down the rest of my coffee, gather my things and head to the salon. “No help for you today!” My men’s educator George tells me upon walking in. “You’re on your own.” “Hey now. If something truly fucked up is going on in my chair, please feel free to lemme know.” I smile putting my things down. “Nope.” “George!” I reach over for my day sheet and nearly pass out. One hundred percent booked. Not one single opening. I put the sheet down, go to the bathroom and cry out of sheer relief and happiness. I spent all that time freaking out about not knowing what I’d walk into. It never occurred to me that I could walk into a full day. It was one of the best days I’ve had in Evanston. I race around at the speed of light, with a huge smile on my face. I am fully present in each moment, concentrating on nothing but the hair beneath my dermatitis encrusted fingers. I don’t feel it though. Nothing bad, negative or painful can penetrate through my ecstatic exterior. I’ve always loved hair. I’ve enjoyed my previous jobs, but this? This is something that is completely, totally, utterly out of this world. I never imagined my love for my job deepening as much as it has. I still view hair as a long term relationship. There are days where I love it, days where I never want to see another strand of hair again. Days that are hard, days that run so smoothly it ends as fast as it started. There are days where I’m not into it, days where it’s not really into me. There are times where I think about leaving hair, divorcing it so to speak to chase after something that appears sparklier, butI always come back. It always takes me back and I love it even more for that. This time though my deepening of love for the industry I believe stems from the fact that assisting is so difficult and I’ve wanted nothing more than to be on the other side again, responsible solely for my clients only and not everyone else’s. My day comes to and end. I’m happily exhausted putting my things away and pulling on all my extra layers of clothing before heading out to the train. I had plans tonight but decide to cancel. Charlie called but I have no energy left to call him right now. When the train starts moving I close my eyes and simply breathe.

Julie and Julia...

I wake up in my bed next to Lucas the day after flying back into Chicago. He's in town from Atlanta for a couple of weeks before moving to Denver. He picked me up from O'hare when I landed. We went to dinner and out for drinks afterward. Our friendship is unlike anything I've had with anyone before. We don't talk much on a regular basis but when we do we're open books and share everything with each other. It's comfortable, easy and just what I need at the moment.
I'm quick to replace something once I "lose" it. Charlie's gone and I want love. I want it in every way I can have it. Hell I wanted it even when I was with him. Sat there waiting for just a drop of it to leave his being and fall on to me. I want to sink into another human living like a parasite until I'm full and fall away or they pull me off. Ok that's gross but you get the picture...
I'm awake before Lucas. His back is to me and I'm eyeing the curvature of his shoulder. "Stop it." I tell myself when my mind starts to wander. I'm not giving in. I don't need to "replace" anything. There was never anything to replace. I'm going to sit here and deal with it. I remind myself that God is giving me everything I need right now.
He rolls over and faces me, his blue eyes opening. "Hi."
"Mornin' sunshine."
"What time is it?"
"I don't wanna know." I reply sitting up and fumbling for my glasses. "Ten thirty?!" I squeal when I see the clock. I hate sleeping this late!
"Seriously?"
"Ugh." I flop backward onto my pillow.
"Breakfast?"
"Definitely."
An hour later after I've made us coffee and we're set to go we hop on the train and head to "Orange", a delicious little breakfast place that serves orange flavored coffee.
"This is awesome." he smiles at me after we've both downed our first cup.
Our conversation flows from one thing to the next like usual. I'm perfectly content, not wanting to rejoin society when he leaves.
"So, what's the point of your book? What's your protagonist learning?" he asks when the subject of writing comes up.
"How to be herself. How to stop being a doormat and go her own way, even if it's less than popular. She needs to figure out how to please herself and stop pleasing everyone else first. I'm having trouble though figuring out where to go with it. How far do I take certain things, how much do I disclose, what's good what's bad, etc..."
"I think you just need to write. Don't worry about anything or anyone. Just get it out."
"I think you're right but I'm still sketched out by where my brain can go. I judge my process so harshly and of course am scared of what people may think."
"Isn't that what you're protagonist is learning?" he grins. "Not to care?"
"You're right!" I laugh. "You're right I know. It's just hard when I've been a certain way all my life."
A few hours later Lucas is packed up and leaving. We quickly say goodbye and he too is gone almost as fast as he arrived. I feel jarred all the sudden. I push myself to change clothes, grab my gym stuff and get moving even though I'm going at a snail's pace. Once there I lift weights then swim for a while. Back and forth, back and forth, I go from one end to the pool to the other concentrating on spacing out my breathing, the pulling of my arms, stretching of my stomach and the kicking of my legs and feet. I do this until I can't anymore and get out.
Rob's mom let me borrow her copy of the movie "Julie and Julia" exclaiming that Julie is me and I need to see it immediately. Once home, I make dinner and set it up. I knew I wanted to watch it alone because more than likely, I'm going to cry. Not because it's sad or happy or anything but because I have a feeling it'll tap into something I've been scared of.
Oh and I cry. It's at the most random moments. I don't even think I could go back and identify these moments if I had to. This reminds me of watching Friday Night Lights with Kaci and feeling the need to cry. When I told her about this she explained that she feels it's because the show is so real.
I want what Julie accomplished. I feel like I just spent the evening with Rob and that he's "telling" me to get up off my ass and do this. I'd love to get my act together. Really I would. I love thinking about writing for a living. I love thinking about composing the pages, and telling my stories. I love to imagine my finished manuscript. I enjoy playing images in my head of being on the train and seeing someone reading my book. It's wonderful but it all lives in my head, never surfacing because surfacing means it's real and real can fail. Living in my little dream world is so much easier but accomplishes nothing. It's what's familiar though. Sitting in this is what I'm used to. I've never done anything different. It's a slow process this learning thing. I didn't get to this point overnight that's for sure. It took twenty eight years. I'm just now trying to turn all my critical, self doubting, negative thinking around. Sure this task is hard but I truly believe it'll so be worth it when it's all said and done. One day at a time...

Belly...

It's the day after Christmas. I'm in Atlanta, the sun is out and it's absolutely beautiful outside. I feel completely totally and utterly full of life. My entire being is elated and smiling so hard it almost hurts. I'm going to meet Rob's mom Judy and his youngest sister Lesley for lunch. It's been over a year since I've seen them. I can't wait to catch up with them, to look at his mother and see his eyes and to watch his sister's hands, seeing a female version of his, to be able to connect with pieces of him that are still on this planet...
I'm driving my dad's truck, giggling at what this image could look like to the people around me. My five foot, three inch frame is almost pressed to the steering wheel, singing at the top of my lungs all the way up I-75. I miss singing so much. I find myself humming sometimes while walking the streets of Chicago wishing I could open my mouth and let the words come out.
I stop at San Fransico Coffee only to see that they're closed. Well damn. I drive further down N. Highland, see Belly and think that'll work.
I pull over and park the truck. Minutes later I'm walking inside inhaling the cafe's delicious freshly baked bagel smell mixed with coffee. I hear Rob's words in my head telling me he really likes this place. I can almost see us acros the way over there sitting on stools eating bagels at the wooden "bar", him with orange juice, me with grapefruit.
The memory leaves my mind as fast as it enters when the woman behind the counter asks what I'm having.
"A small Americano." I reply, still taking in my surroundings. Things have changed a good bit. I'm desperate to tell Rob. I want to pick up the phone, call him and tell him that the bar we used to sit at is no longer there. In it's place is a small wooden table. Next to that is a shelf that houses bulk candy. The shelves against a wall that were partially full of various soda and water bottles are now filled with them. Huge glass candy jars filled to the brim with bright sugary pieces of deliciousness line the bottom of the shelves.
I pay for the coffee and walk over to a massive wooden table and sit. I want to be everywhere with everyone. I want to literally run all over the place, take in all the images that are familiar etching them into my mind to take back to Chicago with me so they can be recalled whenever I need a break from the cold and snow. I want Rob here next to me with his coffee, orange juice and a bagel smiling at me with those shiny green eyes. I know he's here. I can almost feel him watching over me. I feel he probably sent me here to be with me in our little spot. He so loved this place. Loved it's old "general store" feel, it's organic fresh squeezed everything, the table we sat at...he appreciated the tiniest details which always made me smile because I thought I was the only one that noticed them.
The cupcakes are still pastel colored, cookies and coffee beans are still settled in their jars, and the flowers are still arranged on the tables, but I'm here by myself. How do I describe this feeling? I'm so frustrated! I feel I don't have time to think or write all it is I want. I can't even identify what it is I want to say anyway. I feel like I'm moving at the speed of light but in slow motion at the same time. I'm afraid of feeling too much and nothing at all.
I can't even identify what it feels like to be somewhere I used to be with Rob. I do know it hurts. It hurts so badly it's beyond comprehension. It's excruciating to want something I can never, ever, ever in this lifetime have again. There are no words to describe pain like that. To have something and then to have it practically disappear in an instant, never to return again is beyond anything I could ever understand.
Mixed with all of that there's happiness. I'm happy to be in a place I used to share with him, to be able to recall our memories to feel him on some level right here with me...

Nothingness...

I'd been anticipating feeling a void inside of me once Charlie left for Wisconsin. I've spent more time with him that anyone since I moved to Chicago. Even since breaking up, we've still managed to spend the majority of the past three weeks together. Over the course of these three weeks his things have made their way into boxes, furniture has shifted and the living room is no longer "liveable". Most of our time has been spent having dinner and watching Californication until we went to sleep. There were days where he had me laughing hysterically and days where there wasn't anything but an empty nothingness hanging over us leaving me to wonder what the hell I was doing. There were times my insides screamed at me to get up and get out. Even in the middle of the night my body ached to crawl home but I didn't move. When I tried to speak the words wouldn't come. I've never run into a wall like this before. It's like we both were repelling each other in some weird way. Something inside me felt pushed away. I wanted sometimes desperately to place my face on his chest, to put my arms around him, to feel him wrap around me but there was nothing.
The day before he was set to move I sat on the edge of his stripped down bed, legs swinging off the edge like a five year olds.
"I don't like this Mr. Russell." I simply state.
"It's not like I'm going forever. There are still cars, trains, email, and snail mail..." he replies sitting next to me.
I know this. It's not his leaving that is the problem. It's the fact that I will officially have to deal with myself. Everything I've managed to bury during all this time we've spent together will come to the surface and I don't know what that will look like. The unknown is a scary place for me.
We're both quiet, staring out the window. I'm going to miss it with all it's wide open
exposure. It's everything I'm not right now but aspire to be. It reveals everything. On the other side of the glass I see every human on the street below us. I see the cars racing by on the interstate, and the twinkling lights spread out all over the city. I've been on this side of the glass for far too long, watching other people live their lives. I want my own. I want to be on the outside. I want to be on the street walking with a purpose. I want the wind to tear my face off, I want to hear the cars racing by, I want to see the twinkling lights that are in front of me, I want to feel something.
"I have to drop some boxes I didn't use off at UPS. You wanna come with me and I'll drop you off at home?" Charlie breaks the silence.
"Sure."
We're quiet on the way to the store. It doesn't take long to drop everything off and get back into the car. I'm back to staring out yet another window. When we're stopped at a traffic light something grabs my attention. It's a silver SUV doning a South Carolina license plate. I stare at it as if it's the most beautiful image my eyes have ever come across. A delicious calm washes over me as I'm reminded that Rob, in his own way is still here, and still looking after me and I am not to worry about a thing...and maybe...there won't be any void to fill once Charlie leaves. Maybe the void is already present and will fill itself once this part of my life is all said and done.
At my apartment, Charlie pulls over and we get out of the car. He walks me to the front door, quickly kisses me goodbye and is gone almost as fast as he was here.
I walk inside, put my keys on the table, and drop my purse on the chair that I always sit in when on the computer. I turn on my laptop, check email and decide to order sushi online, having it delivered to the apartment. It arrives an hour later, I eat it,enjoy it then read for a little while before falling into bed. I close my eyes trying to identify what I'm feeling. Nothing.

No...

The word isn’t in my vocabulary. Especially since making the decision to become a service provider nearly ten years ago. I’ve been the “yes” girl my entire life. It’s easier than causing a conflict for me to give into you and deal with myself later. I don’t know any better. Since moving to Chicago I’ve had this innate feeling that I was alone and felt that if I didn’t take care of myself, no one else would. All of my family and closest friends are on the other side of the country. Of course it’s always been up to me to take care of my life but it got so easy back at home to slip into some comfortable way of being because I was surrounded by everything familiar. With relocating I felt I’d be eaten alive if I didn’t quickly learn that I deserve to take up space on this planet. I’ve always put your needs first. I consider your thoughts and opinions on something before speaking my own, tailoring my own thoughts to suit you. I’ve done this over and over so much that in a lot of ways, I have lost what it is that makes me who I am. In the salon it becomes a whole ‘nother issue. While in Atlanta I let you tell me what you wanted and how you wanted it executed. Never mind I just spent three years, including school, training to do this for a living. You’re the client and you know best right? Not always… When work started at Art+Science I was amazed at how many people went about things their own way. I loved watching how the stylists treated each client. There is no set formula, just what works for the head of hair sitting in the chair at that moment. Sometimes clients are cut dry before being shampooed and styled. Sometimes they are shampooed, cut, blown dry, rinsed again and air dried to achieve the final look, then sometimes, it’s simply, shampoo, cut and blow dry. I am extraordinarily regimented in my approach to my clients. It’s how I was previously taught and I never strayed from that. Here, my mind was opened to all sorts of possibilities and I couldn’t wait to get in there and “feel” what it was like to try something new. I have been told many times that I need to take control of the consultations I have with my clients. I need to be confident and decisive each step of the way. I feel like I’m getting life lessons at the same time when receiving these instructions. I can apply these principles outside of work. I feel like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. The growing pains are excruciating and blinding at times but I’m slowly beginning to “get it”. I feared Evanston because it reminded me so much of being on the floor for the first time in Atlanta. My mom reminds me that I didn’t learn all I needed to learn there and am being given another chance to make it right in Chicago. I couldn’t agree more. I don’t want to screw myself over anymore. On my last model day, my last client was a guy. When I was paged to be told he was here I checked the computer to make sure I had his name correct. I then saw it had changed and was a girl’s name sharing the same last name as the guy. I walk out to see what’s going on. A woman and her two kids are sitting on the bench when I emerge from the break room. I introduce myself to her and she introduces me to her daughter. (We’ll call her Sarah.) She is absolutely stunning with thick black hair halfway down her back, huge brown eyes, and perfect skin. She and her mom follow me to my station. Her mom sits next to us and we both listen while Sarah tells me what she wants. “My hair is naturally curly. I straighten it most of the time. I just want an inch off the bottom and I want more layers around my face.” I nod. “Where do you want your shortest layer to be?” She points to a couple of inches below her chin. I ask her several more questions before deciding that I’m going to cut her dry then shampoo her and blow dry her because she’s straightened her hair so well herself that her roots are smooth enough to where I don’t feel anything will bounce up or look crazy if I go this route. I explain this and she seems ok with it. Her mom says nothing. I excuse myself, run my plan by my educator, Melanie while she’s shampooing her client, and walk back to my station. “Um, I don’t think what you’re going to do is a good idea.” Sarah’s mom pipes up. I nod, silently reminding myself that I am in control, and I can handle this.” “Ok, tell me why.” “Well…” she begins and explains her thoughts but it makes no sense to me. I can’t even remember what it was because I didn’t understand her reasoning. “The reason why I’m doing it this way is because she did such a good job straightening it and usually wears it straight. Doing it this way helps me to see exactly what I’m cutting.” I explain and promptly pick up my shears and comb and begin. This chair, this station is my space. I have to remind myself again that I am the one that just trained yet again to do this and by God I’m going to do it! Sarah’s mother says nothing as I’ve already cut my first section of the layers around Sarah’s face. I drag another section over to meet it and cut that one. I do this a third time before her mom stops me again. “I think you just cut that too short. I don’t think that’s where she wanted it.” I calmly take my comb and push my client’s hair away from her face revealing where the end result will be. “This is where she asked me to cut her layers and this is where they are.” I pointed to the space a couple of inches below her chin. Her mom sits back and says nothing while I continue to work suddenly insanely proud of myself. My knees are shaking and I’m able to continue having a conversation with the person in my chair without worrying about what’s going next to me. I know that whatever it is, I will be given the ability to handle it. “Dahling. Are you alright?” Sarah’s mom asks her. “Yes.” “Ok, dahling, I’m going to sit with your brother.” “Ok.” I keep cutting, both of us happily chatting away. Sarah is a wonderful little lady. She’s pleased with her hair once I finish and when I walk her over to her mom thanking her for bringing her in she is also thrilled. “Oh I can tell she’s happy. Thank you so much. It’s beautiful.” She gushes. Her attitude completely changed over the course of an hour. Is this what being assertive does? Establishes a level of respect? Is this what I’ve been missing this whole time?! I’m on cloud nine as I walk out of the salon later that evening. I felt I actually did something for myself. Sure it was mildly challenging but it felt so insanely wonderful to stand my own ground, make a choice, a decision and go with it.

Model Days!!!

EEEKKK!!! It’s finally happening!!! I’m actually going to cut hair!!! How it works when we’re assisting at Art+Science is once we reach a certain place in class and do our teachback, we cut (or color) on the floor at the location we’ll be placed at for a discounted price. We do this once a week for four weeks. If all the numbers look good and all the people come in we earn our first day on the floor charging the actual salon prices. This happens once a week for four weeks and again, if the numbers are on the up and up we earn another day and another etc…until we’re no longer assistants. I see the light… shining ever so brightly up in Evanston, but first, I gotta get some folks in. My first day is Tuesday December 1st. I post ads all over craigslist, put flyers up all over the surrounding area near the salon, ask former models that have come in for class with me in the past to come in, ask friends and friends of friends. I ask the receptionists to send their friends, ask other people how they did it and…pray. Charlie is coming in and bringing his friend Brian. They are my only two and I’m freaking out all week. Not only am I scrambling trying to find people, I’m also still assisting. I still need models for class on Monday. I am constantly reminding myself every time I want to kill some food, that everything is happening the way it’s supposed to. I don’t have to eat like it’s the last day of my life over something I can’t control. I can sit with it. Easier said than done. On the morning of the first I am in Evanston psychotically early and drinking coffee at the Unicorn café and contemplating a chocolate chip cookie. (Nope, nope and nope.) I’m wearing a dark purple dress and black tights instead of my assistant color scheme of all black or gray and have so many thoughts running through my head that I can’t keep it all straight. I desperately wish I could share this moment with Rob. I’m doing this. It’s actually going to happen. I’m going to cut hair here and I’m so sad that all this time has gone by and I haven’t been able to call him and tell him any of it. It’s not like he doesn’t know. I believe he’s with me always but it’s not the same as physically looking across a table at him while he drinks his soy caramel latte explaining all my nervous jitters and hearing him say “Don’t worry. I’m right here.” I won’t go home and have dinner with him after my day, tellinghim how it went. It’ll just be me and that’s ok. I plan to take myself out for sushi tonight and let the fabulousness of being able to cut hair for today sink in. I just miss him. When I walk in, I see one of the receptionists, LaRae across the salon and we both start screaming and running towards each other, slamming into a huge hug. “I’m so happy you’re here!” she exclaims. “Me too!” I squeal. “It’s gonna be a good day!” she smiles. “Yup!” I’m going to work next to my men’s work educator, George. It feels so surreal to see my name on the books, to have a day sheet that has clients on it, and a place to put my things. My head is swimming as I see I’m booked today with the exception of one opening. My day moves smoothly, wonderfully and happily. I enjoy the company of all my clients. I can’t even believe the girl behind the chair is me. She is the person she wanted to be in Atlanta but never made it. She’s talkative, animated, decisive, confident, and actually believes what she’s saying. She is utterly grateful for a “second chance”. The skin on my hands is practically normal by the end of the day. I absolutely cannot believe it. Even after touching wet hair all day, the swelling and redness is almost gone. They don’t itch as much and there isn’t any blistering. I remind myself to google dermatitis and see if its stress related even though I already know more than likely, yes it is and more than likely, when I stop assisting, it’ll go away almost entirely even though the cold climate will keep the skin dry. Charlie joins me for sushi after work. I’m happy for his company. We stay up late watching Californication until our eyes are too heavy to stay open…

Changes...

I'm overwhelmed with the amount of stories, experiences, changes, moments, and feelings that have come and gone since posting my last blog. I was even behind posting the past two or three when I actually got around to doing it. Charlie and I broke up in November if that gives an idea of how much I've been slackin'.
When I think about writing I start getting prickly under my skin and the task of writing out all the things I want to share with you becomes a little much. This is what I'll go with for now...
The next day at work after the class I had where Annie said I was an author I was tearing foil for the colorists when I suddenly had a feeling that Charlie was moving. I've known that he hasn't been happy in Chicago for quite some time and has wanted to live in northern WI. I have no evidence to support this feeling, it just popped in my head. I keep tearing foil.
Later that same day I remember that I emptied my camera's memory card onto his computer back in September. Three hundred of my pictures are residing on his laptop. He's out of town but a week later I'm sitting in the passenger seat of his car while the rain pounds the pavement beneath us as he picks me up from work in Lincoln Park. He tells me he hasn't burned the pictures to the disk yet and wants to know if I want to get sushi. I know this is trouble yet I find myself agreeing.
In the week that we've been apart the swelling and craziness my dermatitis has wrecked through on my hands has gone down considerably. I feel like I've been asleep for nine months and living in a dream world. It's like something has been there all along patiently and quietly trying to wake me up, trying to make me see that I can't "lay in bed" and "sleep" all day. It was wanting me to see that this relationship wasn't working. I chose to turn away from this though. It felt so warm and nice in my "bed" that I shooed away the nagging feeling until it's only choice was to step away from my stubbornness, get Charlie and make him do it. I settled into the comfortable loveliness of our routine together, not wanting to see anything else. Now that I'm "awake" I can see that I've made a mess of everything. I've let my little spirit become overgrown with nasty, negative thoughts that intertwine themselves all over my "body", squeezing it, cutting off it's air supply. Quickly I begin to struggle within this entrapment, tearing away at these thoughts, cutting them apart, scrambling to undo the damage.
Dinner of course is wonderful. It's everything it should have been the whole time we were together. We talk, laugh and share the details of our past week. He listens, and is so attentive that while I enjoy it, I know this whole thing isn't real. He can't keep it up and well, neither can I but for right now, I want to enjoy the facade.
I spend the night. We spend the morning together. He tells me he's moving to WI. He's got three more weeks to pack and settle everything up in Chicago before leaving. The only thought that comes to mind is "thought so." I don't feel anything and find that scary.
After we've gone our separate ways for the day, I go for a run and start to fear what might happen once he's gone. I'm reminded of when my former roommate Kaci left and how much that hurt. I wasn't prepared to feel any of that. She was my "home base" so to speak. The person I depended on to be there when I came home. When she left, Charlie became that person. Since we've broken up I've been investigating both of those situations, recognizing the unhealthy attachment I've formed to both people. I've seen that I have behaved this way my whole life. I bounce from one person to the next,never learning to build my own foundation to stand on but hitching a ride on others. When they move on I freak out, feel abandoned and begin the search again. This time, while out of habit I've got one eye out in the open looking around, the other is looking inside. It's searching for my likes and dislikes, for my opinions, for my thoughts, for what it is I want to do with myself, for now and for later. It's searching for what makes me, well, me. I lost that person somewhere in life, covered her up with the garbage from everyone else's expectations. Really though, even under all of that, ultimately, I'm simply looking for love. It's what I've been on the hunt for all my life. I've just now gotten around to seeing that the type of love I'm wanting is the type I can't get from another human. I have to find it within myself.
Folks talk about that all the time. We're consistently told that in order to love someone else you have to love yourself first, but seriously? What does that look like? As children we're praised for pleasing other's. Who doesn't love praise? For me, as I've gotten older, I've become almost addicted to that praise. I'll do whatever it takes to receive it. I've never been ok with saying "no" or creating some sort of conflict in the name of my own desires. It's so easy for me to hear about you and what you want to do and adopt your thoughts and opinions. It's too much work to find my own. Plus, I won't be able to "stand it" if you don't like my beliefs, thoughts and opinions.
Well, fuck that. It's too much work to keep this up. For the first time in my life, I'm going to step out in another direction and try going down a different path. I just want to see what could happen if I try something new. Sure, I'm scared. I fear what you'll think of me. I fear I won't be able to keep it up. I fear I'll get stuck in something again that looked a lot like this past situation, but there's a part of me that knows better. Somewhere while I was "sleeping" and moving through my dreamworld, I got stronger. I began developing a spine. Why it took being with Charlie for this to happen I don't think I'll ever know. What I do know is that he's the last person that I, as I've known myself to be, will ever be again. From this moment forward, I want so badly to be different that I believe I'm willing to work for it, put in the effort and just see what happens. Lord knows I can't go back to where I was...

Author...

I sit at Lovely, drink a huge Americano and write. I thought it would feel weird without Charlie here but it’s ok. It’s like he’s out of town for a while. I do still look up every time I hear the door through, half expecting him to enter. I did this even when he really was out of town, always hoping that whoever was entering was him.
I fill the pages of my journal with all the insanity that’s been waiting to be unleashed. I don’t hold back, I let my head run free through the swamp of all the nastiness and then when I’m finished (for now) I “clean” myself off and get on with my day.
I run and run and run. It’s amazing. I remember that sixteen mile run I went for after Rob died and how it hurt and was rather long but completely amazing. One day, I want to try it again.
I get cleaned up and head up to Wicker Park for class. I’m walking at the speed of light. I can’t wait to see Annie, to be with everyone and to happily sink my fingers and shears into wet hair.
I pull open the heavy door and Annie’s the first face I see.
“Mama!” she beams walking toward me, arms open wide.
“Hi!” I run toward her like I used to do with all my friends when I was in elementary and middle school.
We plow into each other and I feel the tears start to fall. Not because I’m sad, but because I feel so much relief and love and have missed it so much.
“C’mere.” she pulls away, smiling at my wet face.
Again, in the break room, everything spills out of me. When I’m done talking she examines my face again.
“You’re different. Like, more open.”
I laugh. “I totally feel that way! It’s incredible! I don’t feel scared of everything all the sudden and I’m actually ok being myself simply because I deserve to be. I don’t know what happened.”
She hugs me again and we walk back out the floor and set up for class.
“Ok you guys!” Mel exclaims. She and Tara, another educator are standing up at the front of the salon with a chair positioned to face all of us who are now seated in a semi circle in front of it. “Theory today is going to be on consultations. We’re going to do a little role playing to strengthen your consultation skills and help you with any issues you might run into.”
Minutes later I’m standing with my co-worker Yeefah in the chair trying to not only remember all the “right” questions to ask but come up with something for her hair. I’m feeling completely incapable of this task right now. I stumble a little and once we’re through it Mel says to me, “Melissa, I need you to be more confident.”
I need me to be more confident too. I want to tell her to hang on a second, I’ll get better, it’s going to happen, I’m just now getting around to standing up again and dusting myself off.
“Ok, you guys switch.” Mel instructs.
It’s my turn to sit in the chair. Yeefah begins asking me questions. I’m supposed to be a “wishy-washy client, never giving a straight answer.
“So tell me, what do you do for a living?” she asks me.
“I…work from home.” I reply, thinking about writing my book. An image of Charlie in his chair by his living room window pops in my head.
“Oh! What do you do?”
I glance at Annie. She’s beaming and answers for me “She’s an author.”
My heart fills as I swear she just read my mind. I want it. There is nothing stopping me. I can have it. I don’t know how yet but I’m going to keep at it…
Later Mel hugs me and says “I didn’t mean to pick on you earlier.”
I laugh. “You’re not picking on me! It’s true!” I hug her again and go to my station. What I don’t say is all the crap that happened at Van Michael in Atlanta and how I was never taught to have any sort of confidence behind the chair. I let my clients run the show because somehow I believed everyone knew better than me. How this happened when I’m the one that trained for all of this I don’t know. Art+Science has helped rebuild or actually I should say they’ve given me the confidence I currently posses to perform better behind my chair, to take control, make decisions and not be afraid.
I also refrain from telling her that I lost myself completely in my relationship and am now trying to get back to figuring out who I am.
“Melissa, you’re first one is here.” Nyssa, the receptionist tells me as I’m finishing some oatmeal in the break room.
“Thanks lady!” I reply. I quickly wash my bowl and head out to the floor to get this day started.
A couple of hours later a fellow couch surfer Darrick is in my chair. Immediately we have an insane, intense conversation. He’s way younger than me but has had so many experiences and shares his feelings so openly and honestly that it overwhelms me in the best way.
He’s a musician, writing his own songs. I talk about my blog, about Rob and about the novel I’ve been pecking at. He listens intently, without judgment and shares his own story. Talking to him is like applying a soothing balm to an open, aggravated wound. We agree to get coffee sometime soon.
After packing up my things, I meet Seven and several other co-workers around the corner at a fabulous little pizza place. It’s packed but I don’t mind like I usually do. I’m happy to be with everyone and am wondering where this is coming from. I actually want to be out? Who is this girl?
We all talk and laugh and eat deliciousness. One of my educators gives me a ride home. I stay up and write until midnight, unable to sleep. I need to get back to writing my novel but my journal is begging for attention right now. One of these days everything will be balanced again…

Yoga...

Months ago I heard about a yoga class that takes place at one of my favorite stores (lululemon!) on Sunday mornings. I think a lot about it but have yet to go because of work or because I’ve chosen to spend the day with Charlie.
When I wake up, I make breakfast, and turn the computer on. I want to write today but when I have unlimited amounts of time to do so, I get a little squirrelly and avoid it. When I don’t have much time, well, I can compose all sorts of masterpieces. I’m not sure I’m entirely ready to let myself in and get to a place where I can write at the moment so for the time being, I email people, post an ad for models for class on Monday and lust after pretty things on etsy.com.
I feel myself getting antsy. I pull on a pair of jeans and my favorite hoodie and take a walk to Alliance for an Americano. I’ve been in Chicago a year now. Alliance was the spot I went to when I was feeling sad. Some of my favorite blogs were written here. I used to watch the snow fall letting my mind wander in and out of memories of Rob, Atlanta, Pete, and everything I wanted to get away from. Chicago has become the safest place in the world to me. A place where I can be myself and be free of any expectations, real or perceived. Everything has moved at the speed of light. I feel in a way, without Charlie now, I’m back where I started a year ago. I’m back to a place where I’m figuring things out again, and moving forward. This time though, it’s better. I feel better equipped. The feelings of heaviness I’m experiencing now are familiar and comforting in a way. I don’t question it or push it away too hard. I understand that for me, this is my normal reaction to loss. I already know the steps I’ll have to take, the things to do and not do to get through it.
The sky is gray and the air is quite chilly as I make my way down Division. I am reminded of the long walks I took even on the coldest days during the holidays last year. I just needed to get out and move, even if it meant having the wind tear the skin off my face. The cold sometimes felt better than whatever it was in my head.
While walking, my mind conducts all sorts of compositions and ideas of things to explore and write about. It’s coming at me so hard and fast that it’s exhilarating but frustrating because I know I’ll never be able to capture all of it. Even with keeping a notebook with me all the time I can’t possibly write everything that goes through my head. I sometimes have to just sit still, wait for all the thoughts to calm down before I can actually write. This frustrates me further because I’m afraid of forgetting. I try to remind myself that whatever ends up on the paper is supposed to be what’s there.
I order an Americano at Alliance and walk home. My head bounces back and forth between wanting to write and wanting to take this yoga class. I’m supposed to meet Christine later and go her parent’s house with her. I don’t have time to both write and do yoga.
Once I’m home I decide that writing will wait because I’ve put off this yoga class long enough. I want to see if I can mentally get to a calmer place and open some things up. I also feel my body deserves to be stretched and challenged differently than what I’m used to. I quickly get ready and run up to the store.
Once inside, I spread my mat out, take off my shoes and sit quietly. I am unaware of myself. Any residual self consciousness I’ve felt lately has left me completely. I feel I deserve to be taking up space here. I watch the people around me, stretching, sitting, breathing. My surveying is interrupted when the instructor comes up to me, introducing herself and asking if there’s any injuries I’m working on today. I smile and shake my head thinking there is nothing physical that I’m working on anyway.
The class begins with everyone sitting and facing forward. The instructor quietly explains that yoga is the practice of connecting the mind, and body, and is to help us become closer to our divine spirit through meditating and breathing. She reminds us that we’re striving for a connection, not perfection.
I don’t blink for what seems like forever, starring straight ahead, listing to this woman’s soft voice. When she says connection I feel tears spring to my eyes. That’s it… what I was missing with Charlie. I feel emotionally starved. Physically he was always there. I so wanted to connect with him emotionally, to dig deep into him, know him, share myself with him. Instead while trying to figure it out, I kept suppressing everything, kept waiting for a perfect time to bring whatever it was I wanted up. There is no perfect time, only what I choose to do and not do.
“You are not your body, or your thoughts.” the instructor goes on. “What I want you to do right now is to close your eyes and focus on something you want to get out of this class today. What are you needing in your life right now? Take a few deep breaths and focus on that for a few minutes.”
I inhale, exhale and think what is it do I want? Ah, to be vulnerable. I want to open up and feel whatever it is I need to feel. It’s too much work to keep it all in, but I’m not completely sure how to get to a place where I can accept any feelings of openness. If I open up, the hurt will pour in and I don’t know if I can take that rush just yet.
We’re instructed to lay on our backs and continue breathing. I feel my body sink into the ground. I let myself talk to Rob a little bit. I apologize for not talking to him much lately. I apologize for refusing to pay attention to obvious things. I ask for his help, for comfort. I tell him I want his hand to hold mine, I want his love, I remind him that I miss him terribly.
In admitting this I can see that I have so much grief left swimming around inside me. I haven’t allowed myself to properly acknowledge it. It’s like I feel I should be done already. In reality though, I’m not. It’s still there and it’s still needing attention. I no longer have Charlie to focus on and I’m somehow feeling something deeper than I ever thought possible. It’s a need to explore these feelings of loss, to connect once again with Rob as I now know him. As Nathan reminded me shortly after Rob’s funeral, “this is your new normal.” I didn’t really want to see that.
The instructor continues to have us gently move into pose after pose. I feel my body sink further into each one, not wanting the class to end. It feels so good to move, to breath and be calm, if only for an hour.
As the class comes to an end, we’re all laying on our backs again. The instructor gingerly walks around between our scattered mats and still bodies. I feel her stop behind my head. Her cool, soft hands, press into my shoulders, before reaching under my neck, picking up my head and gently pulling it, stretching my neck before placing it back down on the mat and walking away. This simple gesture brings tears to my eyes. I desperately want to be touched, want to feel connected and loved.
I breathe in an out, I let my mind briefly explore a memory I have of Charlie and me slow dancing in his living room. Except my face isn't inches from his as it should be. I'm sitting on his couch, watching him dance with a shell of a human that looks like me, sounds like me, but the actual person that is me? She's observing this memory, completely removed from the situation. This is how I've felt the whole time. Detached, watching my life wondering when I was going to step out of this fog.
The class ends. I walk home feeling refreshed and pleased with myself for finally doing something new.
Later, after a shower, my phone beeps with a text from Christine. “I’m here!” I run downstairs and hop in her car.
“Hiiiii!!!!” I squeal, hugging her. I don’t remember the last time I saw her. It’s been over a month for sure.
“Ok! Talk!” she instructs while putting the car in drive and pressing the gas.
I begin starting with my teachback. I talk some about Rob and she stops me.
“You do realize that it really hasn’t been that long since he died and it’s still ok for you to be sad.”
“I don’t like admitting that but I know you’re right.” I reply.
I talk and talk and talk until we’ve reached the grocery store where she’s needing to pick up some things for her parents. I am exhausted once I stop.
“Melissa, do you feel like your self esteem was broken?” she asked while picking up and apple and inspecting it.
I slowly, wordlessly nod, feeling completely ashamed of myself.
“I thought so.” she placed the apple in a plastic bag containing three other apples. “I was getting worried about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You stopped being you.” she turned to look at me. “You got really self conscious and indecisive and you weren’t your typical bubbly self.”
I look down and nod again. “I know. I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t like who I was but couldn’t seem to climb out. I know Charlie’s right and all of this is for the better for sure, but it still hurts.”
“And it will but you’ll be ok.”
“I know.” I smile.

Shampoo,Blowdry, Repeat...

At 4:45am, my eyes are open wide, blinking at the ceiling. Last night comes at me faster than lightning and I can’t breathe again. I lay there, thinking about getting up. It would be in my best interest to go back to sleep but I can’t. I roll out of bed, still wanting air. My hands reach for my running clothes and toss them aside as I peel off my pajamas then pull on my favorite pants, sports bra and sweatshirt. I push my feet into my shoes, walk into the kitchen, grab my iPOD and keys and go outside.
The air I was desperately looking for fills my lungs as my feet pound the pavement. I am nothing and nowhere as I run down Milwaukee Ave. My head has nothing to focus on except the music playing in my ears and the direction I have to go in. I make it to Grand Ave, turn around and head back. I should go home but my legs take me across Division and further up Milwaukee Ave. I go my usual route, turning on to Damen and going for a while before realizing that I do have to work, and if I don’t head back I’m going to be scrambling to get there.
I try to write in a Starbucks with a grande soy latte once I get over to the Lincoln Park area. My head is drowning in a sea of thoughts and craziness. An hour later I’m shampooing for a stylist, remembering work is my little island away from my thoughts, and the life I carry on outside of the building. For eight hours I can rest in this escape and simply do what I know best. Shampoo, blow dry, repeat…
“Melissa?” Seven’s voice has a sternness to it as she approaches me. I’m standing at the sink, washing the color bowls.
“Yes love?” I smile. She met me for coffee earlier and discussed last night’s recent developments. She asked if I’ve cried yet to which I replied no, unsure of whether I would or not. We’ve currently been so busy working that we’ve barely spoken since.
“Do you know where we keep the cotton?” she asks through clenched teeth.
I look over her shoulder to see a woman standing in front of the mirror, her face inches from it, rubbing at her skin around her hairline with a paper towel.
“Um, I don’t but I will find some. What’s going on?”
“She’s insane. She can’t use a towel to get the color off her hair because it’s “dirty”.”
“Does she not think we wash them?” I giggle.
“I dunno, but I want it to be over. She thinks she needs cotton to get the stuff off.”
“I’ll be back.”
I race downstairs to the stylist’s floor and dig through all the spaces I think might be holding the cotton. Finally I have to ask my manager Patrick where it is.
“C’mere.” he says, stepping away from his client. I follow him to the basement. “What’s going on?”
“Oh Seven’s client is being crazy. She needs cotton to get the color off her skin.” I say to Patrick’s back as he examines the shelves that hold our extra product.
“Huh. I thought it was here.” he turns around. “There it is. How much do you need?”
“Who knows.” I laugh. I take a handful and we head back upstairs.
“Patrick?” I say as his foot steps on the first step. He turns to face me. “Can I share something with you?”
“Of course.”
This feels so awkward but I can’t help it, I want to tell him.
“Charlie and I broke up.” I exhale.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. I just, I don’t know. I just wanted to tell you.”
“No problem. I’ll be around later if you want to talk.”
“I do.” I say before I can think.
“In a way I guess I should say congratulations. If it’s not working then well, it doesn’t do any good to stay in it.”
“You’re right.” I smile. We head upstairs and get back to our clients.
I race around the entire day, smile intact, eyes sparkly and slightly crazy, hands always in motion, with air being the elusive necessity. Nothing is worse than Rob dying. I remind myself. I can do loss. I’ve been doing loss. All of these feelings are familiar and nothing in comparison to what I’ve already been through.
Yet I still fear it. Still afraid of what might happen when the hurt catches my speedy little self, wraps it claws around my neck and squeezes.
No. I won’t be allowing that. I again, have to remind myself. It’s ok to be upset but I’m not sinking into it, it’s not going to steal my life. I will continue to move forward, and know there is something else to be learned, something else to be experienced and this is simply part of the process.
I find myself back in the basement again a little later. I’m not sure why. I glance at the computer and turn to go back up when suddenly I’m doubled over and tears are pouring out of my eyes. It hits hard and fast and I let it wash over me. I allow the tears to come knowing they won’t be back. Quickly, I let the thoughts pass through my mind. I won’t be going to Charlie’s after work, I won’t be making dinner with him again, no more mornings at Lovely with coffee and muffins. I’m no longer part of a “couple” but walking a new path all on my own. It’s ok. I’m ok.
I stand upright again once my crying has stopped. I wipe my face, inhale, exhale and head back upstairs.
“I know you’re not going to want to hear this right now but this breakup couldn’t have happened at a better time.” Patrick tells me after taking a sip of his beer. We’re seating across from each other at a little bar next to the salon. Work is done, and I’ll be heading home to get ready for Seven’s birthday action soon. “You’re going on the floor soon and will be able to focus all your energy into building your business.”
“You’re right.” I smile. I know I couldn’t handle Evanston if I were still in this relationship.
Rarely do I say anything but hello and goodbye to Patrick. Even when he’s cutting my hair I’m usually very quiet. I’ve gravitated toward him though since I started working at Art+Science. I’ve felt the need to share all sorts of things about Rob, work, and now Charlie with him but I haven’t let myself open up. The flood gates open up though and I vomit up all the insanity my head has been through these past nine months. I talk and talk and talk. He listens and allows me speak freely. I’m surprised at myself but so grateful for all of this. I’ve been silent for so long and now everything is pouring out of me faster than I can keep up with. I feel completely free…
At home, I’m dancing around my apartment, mascara wand in hand, haphazardly getting ready to meet up with everyone. Dressed in my favorite purple sleeveless top, and jeans, I’m searching for shoes, stopping to apply more make-up and contemplating what earrings I’m going to wear if any. I feel desperate to write, dance, sing express myself in any which way I can. I’ve contained all my thoughts and emotions for far too long and had no idea.
“Hi!” I squeal when I see Seven sitting among a group of people I’ve never met before.
“Hello love!” she stands, hugs me and introduces me to everyone. I sit next to her friend Kate and we start talking about work. She works for the salon I interviewed at before Art+Science. After hearing about her life there I am filled with gratitude once more to be right where I am.
“Melissa!!!” my co worker Candice yells upon approaching our table.
“Hi!” I exclaim, jumping up to hug her.
“You never come out!” she laughs.
“I know.” I lower my eyes knowing this will change and soon I’ll be more comfortable in social situations. I will no longer be preoccupied as to whether or not Charlie will want me. I want me and that’s enough. These people right here want to be with me and it’s more than enough.
“Let me buy you a drink!” she smiles.
Here we go…
I maintain a perfect buzz all night, never having too much but over the course of the night, yeah, it was more than I anticipated having. I talk and listen to everyone, meeting new people, hearing new stories. We go to another place where we’re dancing around and being silly. I’m still a little afraid to completely let go of myself and get really into dancing but I’m still happy.
Later I find myself in the car with Candice and another co-worker Gianna. We’re off to “Underdog” for veggie dogs and fries. This is one of those places you only go to after some drinks and after midnight. Of course the place is packed. Of course some wasted guy makes some lewd comment in our direction but we’re in and out fairly quickly with three veggie dogs and fries. Gianna takes me home where I sink into the unhealthy deliciousness and fall into bed.