the lonely teddy bear and other ramblings of solutude

My heart is made of steel.

Not in that strong, impressive, Superman sort of way, but in a way in which it hangs so heavily in my chest it makes it difficult to gather my bearings; to stand up and rise when my subway stop approaches without a considerable amount of effort. Where I then begin to lumbar clumsily toward the opening doors.

Of course the old cliche of time heals all is tossed about on a semi-regular basis, yet the weight in my chest remains. The unbearable pressure on my internal organs remains, making it difficult to breath and squeezing the water stored in my ducts to release often and with passionate fervor.

Sure, time dulls all. I no longer have strangers on the train offering brand name Kleenex and words of encouragement, likely assuming I'm leaving the hospital housing the still warm corpse of a blood relative. Little do they know, they are with the corpse, seated in a crowded 1 train heading uptown. Crying for the death of hope and possibility and love.

Like a corpse; like I am trapped in a bad version of 'Weekend at Bernie's, although looking at that sentence I realize that may be a bit redundant. I feel like some sort of bloated shell forced to go through the motions and pretend to be a normal participant of society despite the fact that the confines of my cozy 1 bedroom apartment offers more solace than any fellow strap-hanger could ever.

Heartbreak is like a newborn, still calculated in months until toddling out the door with no hands, masticating ones own food, and ideally wiping ones own ass without enormous amounts of effort or the help of one more skilled in those particular departments.

13 months in and my step is still unsteady and I still feel like my peas and carrots should be strained into a more tolerable form, at least if I am expected to keep up. Keep up with the other toddlers fumbling around this world looking for meaning and love, neither of which I have yet to have been graced with.

Being looked upon with a strange mix of pity and disgust leaves one feeling dirty and impotent, unable to handle what, according to most is just another part of life, but to you has felt nothing like being alive and only like death with the unfortunate side effect of still needing to pay rent and, in turn present yourself to the world in a way that limits their discomfort and your embarrassment. 

This can't be normal - feeling this way. How long is one expected to pretend and suffer? How long is one expected to wake up every day knowing it will be the same combination pain, irritation and overpriced coffee.

I get that everyone has had a broken heart- I am a fan of Motown and teeny-bopper pop, so I am fairly well versed in love, it's loss and the inevitable inspiration derived from said loss and instantly made into a hit single. However, without the Chi-lites to back me up with their melodies in bell bottomed pants and fedoras, all I feel is hollow.

All I feel is alone.

saying goodbye to your soul mate and the antidote to suicide- part 1

a couple of weeks ago i did, what i consider to be, the ballsiest thing i have ever done. on the third leg of a three week trip, i went to maui to a former flame's wedding. alone.

pathetic. weird. awkward. i have heard it all.

looking back, the word i would choose to describe my experience - beautiful.

the groom was my first love. we hold a special bond and i was discouraged by many not to attend his nuptials. perhaps naively i feel like love is supposed to be altruistic in it's purest form and this happened to be a happy day for someone i love with my entire being, so it seemed foolish to not support and partake in his happy life experience. now having been single for a year, i still have not gotten over the pain of my love lost. when this wedding was first mentioned i assumed not only would i be in attendance with my most recent paramour, but i also assumed, somewhat foolishly, that i would be with child. well, turns out not only did i not call in my +1, but i was also being visiting by my aunt flo, which i am pretty sure is the opposite of being pregnant. for years i have been preaching to people to step out of their comfort zone and take risks, as i see myself doing, but the truth is, these adventures into which i throw myself are within my comfort zone because i dig them. plain and simple. going to a honeymoon hot spot as a single 32 year old woman was not within my comfort zone. so i did it.

luckily, mere hours after landing, whilst lying on the beach sunning myself i met a man from the bay area by way of russia who was friendly, gregarious, and open to the point where he heavily intimated that perhaps he had been involved in the illegal drug trade and grew copious amounts of marijuana at at least one juncture in his life. clearly this was the makings of an excellent out of town encounter, so i packed up my freshly purchased beach towel, LRG hat and book and we headed over to a local resort so i could take a look at how the other half live. here i met a newly married couple filled with tats, silicone and joy from their marriage after 10 years together. the husband, a driver for the motion pictures in los angeles explained that several years before he had been married to his wife's mother, not for love, but for health insurance which not only warmed my heart because of the generosity of love but also saddened me that we live in the most powerful country in the world and a woman cannot afford to get cancer. sigh. here i also met a nice man named frank who regretted 'bringing sand to the beach,' as this divorcee was on a make it or break it trip with a girlfriend of a year. its amazing what people tell strangers. after the bar flies dispersed i decided to head to a local shave ice spot in lahaina that a friend insisted upon me checking out. lucky for me, it was here i met yet another local, only this time a transplant from ny who left not long after 9/11 and had become a snuba (scuba and snokel hybrid) at a local beach

delicious shave ice treats were had and plans were made to dive the following day.

the water was not accommodating, yet the sun and people warm and i spent the day reading.

after a day of what i believe to be full blown relaxing i met up with this former NY'er turned bongo drummer and he and i, with said instrument, headed to a hawaiian house party, replete with ukuleles and home made delicacies. evidently this group of friends are also local musicians and sitting in a strangers driveway, eating their home cooked food, listening to local songs to which my ears had never before been privy, and gazing and the most contentedly beautiful pregnant woman i had a moment, just a moment, where i thought perhaps life is not all that bad.

the nuptials were the following afternoon, so i got a quick snuba in, swam with some turtles, became one with nature and had a stranger rub lotion on my back in the basement of a hotel - all before lunch. nervous to arrive at the wedding alone was a daunting task but seeing a couple old, familiar faces made me feel at home and the mother of the groom was, as always, charming, crazy and welcoming in one burst of frantic energy. being in such a mellow place and looking into the faces of those you love with the utter core of your being brings one a sense of serenity and calm, an opportunity on this trip for which i am eternally grateful.

the typically surly groom has literally never looked happier, filling my heart with endless amounts of joy and the bride was a vision. dinner was entertaining, largely due to the most recent additions to the family of two little girls from china who were endearing with childlike wonder and fascinated by the fact that a grown woman could exist without a husband. after several inquiries into where my husband was, their mother politely explained to them that one is in fact capable of reaching adulthood without one.

seeing as they are little girls who have not yet reached the age or obtained the level of social decorum we are supposed to have reached upon maturation i felt they got a pass. i, do not, however offer this pass to the childhood friend of mine with whom i went through my formative years who felt it appropriate to make a number of cat, lesbian and unsuccessful relationship jokes at my expense, at a table full of people. i suppose maturation is a relative term. although i know he didn't meant to hurt me, being at the wedding of someone with whom you have history and being a single woman at 32 lends itself to some senstive areas, areas i would expect most grown men would recognize. just a blip in an otherwise joyous day. moving on...

having not been excited to go to hawaii and spend that time and money due to its domestic status and the fact that i had visited two of the islands in my late teens, i was pleasantly surprised with how nice a week on an island with no agenda can be. my last morning i took a long hike alone, went to the north shore with another new friend i met at the shave ice hot spot who felt it his responsibility to show me parts of the island i had yet to see and parts of himself i didn't ask to see. i bid my former new york resident friend adieu and was honestly sad when driving my rented lincoln continental into the stormy dusk.

perhaps being in the presence of love is the antidote to suicide.

maui, hawaii

september 2013

bermuda love triangle

Sitting on a rock at the Hamilton airport, staring at the aquamarine water, basking in the delightfully clear skies I cannot wait to get home. Trying desperately, on my 32nd birthday to take stock in those things that are good in my meager existence as opposed to all things wrong as I anxiously await an intimate birthday dinner with some friends who love me and whom I adore. Waking up on your birthday with a strange man in a strange country may sound exciting, or may sound like the beginning of the Hangover 4- but trust me it is not nearly as charming and Bradley Cooper's baby blues are nowhere to be found.

Lets rewind.  


A couple months ago I booked myself a trip to Bermuda for my birthday weekend. The flight was cheap, the country was unknown to me, and the spontaneity of it all made me feel like myself again after having lost contact with that particular person for some time.

I felt good about my impulse purchase until I realized that perhaps this was the sort of destination best enjoyed with a travel mate. It still surprises me when I get myself into these pickles- as I have before- how few people are down for an impromptu voyage. Several weeks later I had begun seeing a man who, for all intents and purposes, was fantastic but we had yet to really click. I offhandedly mentioned he should come along, as I am wont to do, and he immediately jumped on board. This sort of down for whatever attitude should have excited the traveler not so deep within me, but instead made me a little nervous and apprehensive.

I like to make each of my trips a new adventure, and interesting in their own right. It seemed that Bermuda would be my first couples challenge- although instead of going with a boyfriend or someone I loved deeply I was going with someone who was essentially a stranger, so much so that he was biblically still unknown to me. What would my grandmother say?

Anchors away.

It all started harmlessly enough. We had agreed to meet in Penn station Thursday morning to take the NJT out to Newark. He had some difficulty navigating the train hub, but it was no bother as I chatted up two officers standing guard in full regalia.

A quick ride to EWR and we were off for the surprisingly short flight to Hamilton, Bermuda. I graciously offered my aisle seat as he returned the favor with affectionate warmth for which I was in desperate need as flights always seem to have thermostats set to sub zero.

I had arranged for a driver to pick us up and before you knew it we were in Conrad Murray's cab (ok, maybe that wasn't his name, but it was Conrad Something) twisting and turning down the pristine roads of Bermuda heading out to Southampton where I had rented an apartment. Our driver was amiable and charming and, as I later discovered, a clear indicator of the generous and friendly inhabitants that can be found on this isolated island in the Atlantic.

Being the tightwad I am, I rented the cheapest place I could find in Bermuda, which happened to be a tiny apartment settled just underneath Mrs. White's humble abode located in Southampton, on the West side of the island. Mrs. White was a widow somewhere between 75 and 250 years old trying to make an extra buck by renting out her home. She had had some troubles with guests before which she detailed ad nauseum just before explaining to me that I was white and my travel companion was black. How is it old people get away with saying anything?  It was quickly followed by hugs and declarations of love, so all was forgiven.

A quick freshening up session and we were off to the Dockyards to witness a cruise ship's idea of a good time when in port, which included a cover band, some 'local' crafts made in Taiwan and overpriced drinks representing every color of the rainbow. Burgers and curried chicken, which would soon become meal staples, were consumed. A cocktail or two may have been sampled, and we were back to Mrs. White's pad sleep away memories of America and awaken to a new day. And the beach...

Church Bay, which soon became our favorite beach on the southern coast of Bermuda, is an idyllic strip of sand facing crystal blue waters fraught with largely day trippers from the cruises that dock at the West side of the island. Peaceful, serene and picturesque this is an ideal location to do absolutely nothing.

Bermuda is a country of beautiful beaches, warm people and sub par public transportation.

We decided to take this sub par transport, or as I would like to call it vomitmobile - a note of warning to anyone who suffers, as I do, from motion sickness, be prepared to consume copious amounts of Dramamine whilst on the island, as there is no straightaway. After boarding the pink bus to Hamilton I had some time to relax and people watch, one of my most favorite activities. With almost an hour en route, the places open for dinner at close to 10 were limited, but we asked a nice rotund, dark skinned cowboy offered us a few suggestions and we decided upon Cafe Cairo, only to later discover it was the hottest discotheque in town.

Yummy food and cocktails in shades of pastels and neon were consumed before heading to the veranda for hookahtime. Now, I am not a hookah fan, but as my travel mate was I was more than happy to accompany him to the balcony to be amongst the throngs of teenagers taking advantage of looser liquors laws and overpriced cigarettes. As I rapidly turn into my mother I realized I could no longer handle the smoke and retreated downstairs to perch upon a wall and watch the world go by, literally. Women in stilettos and spandex hopping on their scooters to hopefully soberly drive home, old white couples wearing beach appropriate attire and sunburns to match. The evening breeze brought me a sense of peace until I realized my travel mate's lack of information as to where exactly I was seated caused a little friction. I think I am so used to traveling alone that I often forget to 'check in' with others when I make choices. It was nice to know someone cared and after a cab ride home it was off to bed again. 

With Hamilton being the only real 'city' on Bermuda we took advantage of the pink buses to head back into town to buy some bus passes, which would have been useful the past couple of days, buy some souvenirs and check out the town. With a large Anglican population I took advantage of the Holy Trinity Cathedral to light my traditional candle abroad for a friend I lost in childhood and we were back out to the beach in no time. Hamilton is clearly a town for those who come to shop for luxury items when on holiday, so I felt little need to stick around.

Our final day was spent visiting Gibb's Hill Lighthouse where, for 2 American dollars you can climb the seemingly endless stairs to the top and get a well deserved 360 degree view of the island that, from up above looks so small, but who's winding roads prove deceptive. It was rainy and hot, so we wandered back down to the main road covered in a mix of sweat and god's tears. The showers had subsided, but just as the clouds looked to be coming back our way, a nice woman offered us a ride. This is perhaps one of my greatest joys in traveling - discovering the kind hearts all over the world and - in other parts of the world - where showing this is encouraged. This realization is often realized with a bit of melancholy and the wish that my home country could be more like this.

Unfortunately, a real vacation, something I have not perhaps ever had in my life, offers little juice for a story well told. It simply offers additional freckles on my aging face and a leaner back account upon completion. Upon return I realized how few people were able to identify Bermuda's exact location on the globe and how many confused it with the Bahamas and home to Atlantis. For me, Bermuda will always hold a special place as the country in which I bid adieu to a painful 31 and hello to a welcomed 32.

july 2013