Excerpts from this blog are found on www.Hartsong.org, and are part of the volunteer work Michaela does at Hartsong.

When I first pulled up the vast gravel driveway a feeling of peace immediately washed over me. I spotted the metal blue heron nailed to a pine tree and chuckled, happens to be one of my favorite birds, and also happens to be the name of the street that the ranch is tucked into.

The irrigation ditch flowed under the road, and the cows roamed openly, the place was nothing less than tranquil.

Once I pulled the car up to the barn, I hesitated. I had read a lot about HartSong on their website, and I’d anticipated the day with excitement, but I knew it would not be without some feelings of sadness.

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I don’t believe in New Years Resolutions, I believe in Write-Off day (December 31st). Write Off Day is a day that serves like the red-line at the end of the quarter in most businesses, where you write off the losses. I wake up December 31st and make a list of all the things I regret, dislike or didn’t love about the year before, then right as the clock strikes midnight, I burn the list. This allows me to start fresh on January 1st, with no expectations, only hopes and no resolutions that are sure to set me up for failure.

In January 2009 I started a new tradition. I created my first dream board (some people call them vision boards).

Oprah has been promoting the dream board (and the concept of The Secret) for years on her show. A good friend of mine, Lorraine Salgueiro, of Bliss Yoga in Encinitas, was my 2009 dream board coach. Lorraine’s coined phrase is, “Have faith in destiny, the Universe always lines up.” And she is one of those people that j Read More »

I can’t write about self worth, but maybe you can.
I can’t tell you what I see, even though you peer in my eyes.
I can’t tell you what I feel, even though you hold me tight trying to figure it out.

I can wonder though, if what I think self worth is; is how you define it. Maybe the definition you’ve created is YOUR answer. Because I can call you on the phone and talk to you about it with great clarity; but when I stand in the face of it I crumble.

I guess that’s what you see, and that’s what you feel…

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I love you, and more than that I love the way you love me. The way you brush my hair back to see my eyes better. The way your eyes well up with tears when you reach the back of my mind.

I love the way you shed your coat in forty degree weather and wrap it around my shoulders because you saw me slightly shiver. I love the way you yell in a crowded airport “let me be the man” when I try to take control, and the way the embarrassment causes me to let go, let you have the reigns.

I love how you roll over half way through the night, patting around until you find it, my hip bone. And the way you run your fingers softly over the curve and then pull me close and squeeze tight, and even more the way you don’t let go until the sun starts rising over the dew speckled pines outside our window.

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This is conflict.

Conflict is right or left, North or South, East or West, up and down. Some people say that’s Yin and Yang.

Conflict is being caught in the middle of two people, or two ways of life.

Conflict is being a mother and a wife, a sister and a friend.

Conflict is what you actually think, and what you actually say.

---------author’s note---------
This if for you, if you read this, you know that only you can finish it.

I’ve been trying to write this piece since the day he called and said he was driving across California to get my stuff and bring me “home.” I thought about writing this the night I drunk dialed him and told him I’d buy a one way plane ticket from San Diego to Sacramento to fly up and drive back with him on the same day.

I contemplated writing this piece the afternoon he bit his tongue and worked side by side loading the truck with a guy I used to date who was still a good friend. And I wrote a whole paragraph the day I saw him pull out of the driveway with all my furniture headed for Northern California while I sadly stared down my final few days in San Diego.

My cat is the reason I know that everything happens for a reason. If you’ve read my memoir, you already know that Indy and Java both died at 6 years old, 6 weeks apart. It tore up my life and my heart in a way that was indescribable. I was at mile 18 of training for the 26.2 mile Rock N Roll Marathon. I was 4 weeks away from the race and after five months of training, I quit. I couldn’t face life. I couldn’t breathe, let alone run.

At that time I was living in the first home I ever purchased, a brand new condo in the heart of Mission Valley, San Diego. I’d bought the house before it was built, and designed it from the ground up. I love everything about that house, including that it was a stone’s throw from Qualcomm stadium where my San Diego Super Chargers played football.

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I don’t need the last word, but I got it. It took me a long time to realize that sometimes the last word isn’t spoken.

I’m not sure there’s much worse than opting to remain silent, when you would give anything to tell your side of the story. I’m not sure there’s anything more awful than knowing you’re right, and they’re wrong. I’m not entirely convinced that anyone ever gets closure by letting the other person have the last word. But what I know is, there’s peace in letting the last word go unspoken.

Someone whom I’ve never met, which believes they know me personally through friendship connections and Facebook opted to invade my privacy and send me a nasty email a few weeks ago. I opted to take the high road, which for me, was responding in kind and offering closure to her via an in person meeting, which would add dimension to the “me“ she believes she knows from my social networking site and our mutual friends.

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I was once told “an idle mind is the devil’s playground,” I agree, it’s scary up there alone.

I believe in creating your dreams, and I believe in following them. I believe in manifesting your future, and I’m effective at making it a reality. I believe what you put out to the Universe, you get back.

But sometimes I dwell.

I dwell on what people think, or thought. I dwell on whether or not I made the right decisions. I worry that I’ve said too much, and given too little. I worry that I’ve given too much, and said too little.

Sometimes people rush me. I’m always impatient. I stop to enjoy the view, which by definition is beautiful. I pause to capture a moment when it’s ugly, because I want to remember that too.
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They say we learned how to share in Kindergarten. Actually, they say just about everything we need to know we learned in Kindergarten.

I never had a sister.

So I never had to go through the pain and suffering of sharing girl time with my Mom, because I was the only girl. I never had a hand-me down dress for the Prom (well, at least not a hand me down from my older sister) and I never had some younger sister stealing all my shoes or my makeup.

But I had brothers…

Brothers usually ask nicely to share something with you, but saying no usually results in them just taking it. Brothers are famous for returning whatever they borrowed in far worse shape than it was loaned to them, if it’s returned at all.

After my ex-husband drove away with half our stuff I thought I’d never learn to share again.

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Me: His profile contained a picture of him hiking in the wilderness, and he looked quite dashing.

Therapist: Really? You don’t strike me as the wilderness type.

Me: Oh sure I am…I really enjoy a hike now and again…you know, on a paved path and stuff…or if there’s gravel or whatever. Plus I love REI, they have lots of cute stuff in there.

Therapist: Right, exactly. Not the wilderness type.

Me: So, I‘m reading through his page and it says, “I am fond of the great outdoors and I just love all of God‘s creatures.”

Therapist: Seems like a down-home boy.

Me: Oh, totally. I’ve been reading about all these country boys lately in the news and stuff…you know, tough economic times and these guys really know how to survive.

Therapist: And since when are you the damsel in distress?

Me: W Read More »

I wasn’t with him when he packed for our two week trip to the Pacific Northwest. So I absolutely knew I was going to have to deal with the Crest hogging half the sink at the Lodge. What I was unaware of though, is that he opted to step up his game.

I guess this is a good time to back up and tell you, I hate camouflage clothing. It’s fine on military boys, matter of fact, in that case I even get a little warm fuzzy. But on the average Joe, it makes me think of a bloody Bambi falling over in the wilderness leaving behind baby deer to starve.

He knows this.

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To say I’m a Class A grouch when I have to get up before the sun rises is the world’s understatement. Because I don’t think grouches have vengeance…and I do.

Unfortunately the sun rises early here, but fortunately my PIC knows this and he’s got a Class A strategy to counter my early AM attitude.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, because that little tidbit puts at day three.

Yesterday we woke up at a normal hour and had a breakfast consisting of a Bloody Mary, two eggs over-easy and toast, my absolute favorite.

As we approached the floating dock, a circa 1950 plane sat bobbing in the wicked waters of the Ketchikan harbor. The wind was blustering. I glanced around questioning our decision not to hunker down for the night and catch the Ferry in the morning. Then I caught the age of the other two passengers…circa World War II. Which gave me a sigh of relief and an air of doubt in the same breath.

As the pilot tossed our luggage up in the small aircraft my co-partner or PIC on this journey mentioned that it would be a bumpy ride in the Beaver. My “what did you just say” death glare prompted him to continue on. “This is a DeHavaland Beaver, Babe…these pilots are the best in the country.”

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Me: So this guy invited me over for dinner at his place.

Therapist: Doesn‘t seem safe.

Me: In hindsight...nevermind. The thing is, he lives at a condo complex where a bunch of my friends live, and the houses are pretty tight together. So I figured if something happened I could yell louder than a hyena and escape safely.

Therapist: What was on the menu?

Me: His email said rib-eye, mashed potatoes and zucchini.

Therapist: Wow! So he’s a good cook too?

Me: I’m figuring you can’t eff up a rib-eye right? So I learned from a previous flub up that you should always bring a bottle of wine when invited to dinner at someone’s house.
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I was hurting, just kind of achy all over. I couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from, but I knew why, it was because it was too quiet. I pulled the covers up over my naked shoulders and let the tips of my eyelashes meet the bottoms of my eyelids, they whispered, “just go to sleep.” As I laid there doing a 400 meter dash in the silence of the swimming pool known as my thoughts, I realized something.

Me: He drank too much.

Therapist: How much is too much?

Me: Too much that he couldn’t drive us home and we had to call a cab.

Therapist: Oh come on, better safe than sorry. I think it’s responsible of him to call a cab after a few drinks that put your life and a DUI at risk.

Me: I‘m not done, this wasn‘t just any cab.

Therapist: Ok, continue.

Me: Did I mention the date was excellent?

Therapist: No. I’m thrilled to hear that part.

Me: Seven miles...

Therapist: Why are you staring off like that? Are you ok? What was seven miles?

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I felt more than I thought I’d feel when I heard he had died. Maybe it’s because I happened to be alone that night. I’ve been alone a lot lately. Physically alone and emotionally alone, the type of alone you feel when you leave work late and the parking lot is empty, and your car is the only one there.

The first thing I did was sit down at the computer, click to youtube and type “man in the mirror” in the search field. I probably watched the video twenty times in a row…I’m sure that’s not healthy. It was 1988 when it was recorded, five years before his first judgment.

Therapy Sessions of an Online Dating Addict - Fiction Folks. Fiction.

Me: So I have to start by saying, I‘ve never had a one night stand, and certainly not with someone I just met online.

Therapist: Who are you trying to convince?

Me: No, seriously...I’m just saying.

Therapist: Ok, continue.

Me: So he‘s super cute, and I think someone slipped something in my drink.

Therapist: Foul play?

Me: No. I shouldn‘t be so extreme, it‘s entirely plausible that I drank too much, but I just really don‘t believe that one margarita and one lemon drop would have caused me to get that drunk.

Therapist: The phrase of the guilty.

Me: I think I might set up a sting at the bar, I‘m pretty sure the bartenders are roofie-ing drinks.

Therapist: Is roofie-in ... Read More »

Therapist: 10pm for a first date?

Me: Well, on his profile it said he was “in school” so I understood when he said he “had class” and couldn’t meet up until 10pm.

Therapist: I guess that’s fair, trying to fit a dating life while working a day job and extending his education, nothing wrong with that.

Me: Right. So he said it was night classes downtown. I immediately phoned a few friends to find out what kind of classes were downtown.

Therapist: Hmmm.

Me: Well, my friends thoroughly convinced me that he was probably in night school for his law degree. So I’m thinkin, “Score!“ and willing to accommodate this whole late date deal.

Therapist: Law degree does not equate to excellent suitor. But I concur the education is a good start.

Me: So I pull up to his house at around 9:45pm and realize, it’s the exact condo I almo ... Read More »

The definition of vulnerable is: capable of being physically or emotionally wounded.
The definition of violation is: doing harm to a person, especially the chastity of.

My life is now public and open for attack. While most of the world is generally kind, there are critics, and there are those who are jealous, and worse, there’s those that stalk you.

No stalker is good. But some are better than others. There’s silent stalkers, who never reach out but you know they are lurking, there’s stalkers that reach out to you privately but make themselves known, even showing up to public places, and then there are obsession stalkers.

Those ones are the worst. They follow your every move, they wait for anything to catch a closer glimpse at your life. Usually they start by imitating it, and when that doesn’t get the response they’re looking for, they start doing things to instigate you, including saying nasty things. Th ... Read More »

Yesterday I sat for nearly four hours struggling to find the words. Trying to avoid the inevitable phone call. A humdrum of collective thoughts were bouncing around in my head and regardless of how many different metaphors I tried to draw, they would not come out in any logical sense.

I had so much to say, and I couldn’t find a way to say it, because I was afraid of what I would be losing.

A few days earlier I'd realized that I had almost everything, but it wouldn’t be enough to make me happy. It was the moment when you realize that your mind will never win the battle against your heart, and it was in that special moment that I realized I had two choices- accept it and move forward having failed my heart, or dive into fear and take a chance to get what I really want most at the risk of giving everything else up.

But it wasn’t all about me, I was playing with two hearts. After spending a few hours letting m ... Read More »

The text came through and it said, “my copy has arrived.”

The words in and of themselves, and perhaps even put together don’t seem that important. Unless of course it’s a copy of a birth certificate for your newborn baby, a copy of the escrow documents on your first house, a copy of the divorce settlement or… your Memoir being delivered to the man you wrote about.

Suddenly I realized I had written about my life, in painstaking detail, and suddenly I began to feel exposed.

While I share a lot of information with the world, the things that affect me most deeply have always stayed very close to my heart, and suddenly I realized that all those things that I’d chosen to protect over the years were available…on Amazon.com. I felt like I’d taken a scalpel, cut out my heart, sprinkled a little bit of my soul on it and uploaded it to YouTube. Why did I do this?

Because somehow if I put my thoughts on p ... Read More »

Therapy Sessions of an Online Dating Addict: Failed The Myers Briggs

Me: I found the perfect match.com profile.

Therapist: Perfect is a strong word.

Me: No, it was absolutely perfect. He’s educated, works as a firefighter, fairly witty, photos looks excellent, owns his house so he understands commitment, my age…
So I reached out to him, sent him a wink, he winked back.

Therapist: A wink is a good thing right?

Me: Yea, in match.com land it means “I’m interested.”

Therapist: Got it.

Me: So after he winked back, he mentioned that we share a love of golf, and that we should meet up at the driving range…

Therapist: Wow, I like this one already!

Me: Then he adds, but before that I would like you to fill out this questionnaire.

... Read More »

Me: He was super cute…and with a girl.

Therapist: So you didn’t meet this one online?

Me: Nope, it was after the Padres game, a big group of us went to celebrate the win at the top of Altitude in downtown, since winning is so rare.

Therapist: (chuckling) How did you approach?

Me: I surveyed the situation throughout the evening, he was super tall, very handsome, blonde hair, green eyes, pretty well built. My guess was military because his hair had that look to it.

Therapist: Stereotyping, be careful.

Me: So just as my group of friends is about to leave I just walked right up to him and said, “Is this your girlfriend?”

Therapist: Smooth move.

Me: He said “Hi, what ... Read More »

A little salt on the deepest cut stings the most...

One day I stood with my feet deep in the sand, the ocean waves lapped over my ankles, and quickly, with each receding wave, my feet sank deeper; before I knew it, the tide had risen.

I was surrounded by water. I was standing in the middle of the ferocious Pacific ocean. Rather than turning to run, I stood still. I was almost calmed by the way the water rolled in, and the sky got dark. Stars peppered the ceiling above my head and somewhere amongst my fear I felt safe.

The sand became a mold of my feet and suddenly it was soothing to watch the wild of the ocean all around me and know that the water would not get higher, I would not sink further. So I stood still.

Then it all changed. I felt a current that sent a warning all the way up my legs and landed somewhere between my eye lashes and my gut, and I was afraid.

My ... Read More »

Me: I think I’ve been going on too many dates.

Therapist: Right, addiction is a tough thing to break, that’s why we spend this hour each week talking…What makes you come to this realization?

Me: Well, I said from the beginning this was a numbers game.

Therapist: To a certain extent, yes…we know though that you take this whole plethora of available candidates to the extreme.

Me: Well, last week the girls and I went to Taco Tuesday Girl’s Night Out at our usual bar.

Therapist: Ahh yes, Girl’s Night…don’t you usually invite a potential match.com date?

Me: Yes, I usually invite someone to stop in and meet the girls if I feel he’s got good potential.

Therapist: Ok, so tell me about Taco Tuesday.

Me: So I’d gone to lunch with this guy Patrick and I thought he was a potential for ... Read More »