More on the story of Watt, more on the story of stories…

You know, when I was a kid, and in my late teens, then early 20s, it used to be that all I did was go backwards. I’d think about what I should have done, should have said, and should have known ahead of time to thwart disaster, because EVERYTHING is so dramatic when you are younger, especially when you are a teenager.

Now, because I’m human, I still do that every once in a while. I think back. I question myself. I wonder what might have been different if I'd turned a different way. But, mostly, it makes my insides feel like crap to dwell or go backwards. I've also gotten more tired of my own stories and don't like repeating them as much anymore. I guess you could say that I don't seem to feel as much need as the need I used to feel to rehash me and/or to convince myself (or others) of me and of who I think I am supposed to be or of who I am trying to prove I am.

Maybe I've learned that what is, is, and what's been, was, and isn't anymore. The moment is Now, so there really is no use in going backwards. Is there? It’s like my mom used to say, worrying about something doesn’t change the outcome, so why would regurgitating something change what’s already been? It just doesn’t. There is no use in turning ourselves into human garbage disposals, which is the equivalent of dwelling.

BTW, I'm not a saint. I am not any of those guys or gals, those spiritual teachers, who’ve got it way more figured out than me. I've got bus loads yet to learn about living and being in the Now. It's just that what I've learned so far about being in the Now has started to stick over the years and when some of that good stuff gets in, well, there is less room for the bad stuff, the useless stuff.

It takes practice to get to a point where more of the good sticks. (I practice every day, and a lot of times I still suck at it.) But, even the practice gets easier and eventually your body, regardless of what your mind wants to do, just doesn't have the energy, or want to expend the energy, on anything but what is going on Now or what feels better. And Now just feels better than anything that isn’t anymore or isn’t yet. Shoot, even if Now is a little sticky, give me the goopy crap in my life Now instead of the goopy experiences that already sucked.

Sure, as a writer that's all we do is tell stories. We draw from the past. We ruminate. At times, we brood. We coagulate, consider and conjure up different versions of the truth to convey our side of a web being spun. And, by that necessity, we stray from the luxuries of the Now, from the ‘come what may’ and the ‘be what is’ of the Now, so that the words we put out can live in a new world and become absorbed through the reader’s Now.

That’s okay.

This brings me to my own conclusion, that the telling of a story as a writer, and especially the telling of my own story as a truth as it is happening (and not a truth I launder through a character like the mob washes money to make it new money, different money) is so much different than dwelling, than living in your past as a traveler stuck in your past life unable to grow forward.

It’s so different than living in the stories you carry with you, the stories you re-tell to make sure someone understands the identity of your pain (the nature of your past). Turns out, it's so much more fun to use the expertise the past gives you, and it’s so much less energy expended to use your past’s relevance to support your current story, than it is to live in your past, stuck, longing for yesterday. Just the same, one shouldn’t live in their future, hoping for tomorrow. (Tomorrow never comes.)

Okay, didn't expect that intro, but there it went. Admittedly, a tangent for a writer is such an indulgence, it’s as close to, for me, the equivalent of an addict’s fix.

Anyway, that all said, this time, going backwards, hearing my own story again, stepping to the past to reiterate how I met Watt, it’s not make’n any part of me feel ick. I'm rather like’n thinking anything about him. So, I’ll give you some more of the goods…

I was having one of those days at work, which, unfortunately, has become the pattern at work (work sux. I need a new job!), and I needed to just get away. On that particular Thursday I needed to get far away so I could just breath differently and going to my favorite within-walking-distance spot, which I’ve mentioned before (the one nestled among all the trees that usually cleanses me of the first four hours of my work day) was not going to cut it.

So, I headed for Wholefoods (WF), to their salad bar, to their outside, to their tables and chairs, and to their nowhere near work. While driving there, I thought maybe I’d meet someone. Silly goose, I went on to think, you just want to meet someone so this is not intuition but rather desire. No, but this feels different, my mind argued. No again, it’s just desire, my reason shot back. Ah, well, whatever, my everything-else-that-just-needed-to-get-the-frick-away-from-work stepped up, and then concentrated on the road ahead that would lead me far away from work.

Then I get to Wholefoods, and I’m happy: a little extra hummus here, some of that weird look’n vegan biscuit thing there (that looks fattening and happy making), and some more green lettuce all over, pay over there, and then grab a spot right here. Looks good. Sun is shining. Big sigh. Breathe in. Breathe out. And again. Ahhh.

Then: OH SHIT! Did I just swallow my f’n plastic fork tine? Seriously? Where is it? I cannot find this fork tine in my salad and yet I do not feel anything lodged in my throat. What do I do? Am I going to have to drive to the ER so they can take an X-ray, or do I wait till this damn fork tine rips my esophagus as I swallow more? Or, do I wait till it rips something else on the way out? (Sorry. Gross. I know. But, oddly, I was slightly terrified at the possible ramifications of swallowing a small, sharp, inch-ish long, hard-plastic, mini-dagger shaped object.)

Oh, look. There’s a cute guy with a dog. Well, a leash. Can’t see the dog. (The dog was obscured by the cars in the WF’s parking lot.). Oh, look. There goes that cute guy. I wonder where he is headed. No matter, I’ve potentially got a fork tine making its way to my small intestine just waiting to damage my insides. Bye cute guy with your baseball shirt and cap, long shorts and flip flops. I might have to go to the ER, can't decide, and can’t see where you went anyway.

One more bite of salad. Then another. And another. Should I still be eating? Shouldn't I feel something if I swallowed this fork tine? What the hell! Let me turn the leafs of my lettuce over for like the 90th time. Where is this stupid fork tine if I can't find it in my salad, if I can’t feel it in my throat?

More bites. This sucks. I CANNOT relax.

Finally! There it is, that lame, scary-making, from a cheap-ass fork tine, wedged up against the side of the salad container. Frig'n tine! I hate you. Okay, get rid of the rest of the salad and then go inside the store and get a couple of things, then it’ll be time to go back to hell, err, go back to work.

Wait! There’s that cute guy, standing off to the side. Thought he was gone. Wonder why he’s just standing there way past the WF entrance like that. Oh, the dogs. Got it. He’s waiting for someone. Shoot! He’s got two dogs. Didn’t see that coming. Of course I didn’t, I only saw one leash. HA! You know what? I should go pet those dogs. I need what petting a dog(s) would give me right now. Talking to the cute guy, uh, probably isn’t going to hurt either.

So, his sister is visiting from Colorado? That’s why he ended up here at WF today. Okay, random that he is telling me that he lives 38 minutes away but he’s at this WF because his sister had to go here. She needed her healthy food. Don’t they have a WF where he said he lives? Whatever. Fine by me. He’s here. He’s cute.

Oh, yum. There is sand on his toes. Nice feet. He must have just come from the beach. Oh, dear me, I think his smile almost just knocked me over. Wonder if he’s single. He can’t be single. He doesn’t seem nervous talking to me at all. Single guys always get nervous when you feel nervous, even when they are not into you. Thhey just react to your nerves, to your attraction, so he’s probably not single. But wait, I don’t feel nervous. Is it his dogs calming me? Him?

Ask for my number, you sexy beast. Ask for my number. Come on, come on. Ask for my number! He’s so not asking. Maybe he’s not single. Ah, fug it. It was nice petting his dogs. Time to go.

Then I took about a step and a half away before I was physically stopped, and almost lost my balance mid-step, by my next thought (which physically stopped me): You are a friggen idiot if you don’t ask him if he's single. Just ask. Don't be afraid to let a man know you need him, that’s what the psychic said I need to learn. Who cares if he isn't single. You need to practice not being afraid to put yourself out there. That’s why you go to the psychic on occasion, she’s an energy healer. Who cares about the future? She tells you what your energy blocks are. So, jack ass, STEP UP!

So I asked. "This might sound weird, but are you single?"

That smile of his came first, and he lingered on his own smile before he answered, and he let it spread across his face and rush up to his eyes. I couldn’t see his eyes, because he had sunglasses on, but it didn’t matter. His smile was enough to refresh me like a breeze and let me know that the same energy was in his eyes. Then he said, “Yess. I am.”

Thank goodness. He’s single. Happy dance. HAPPY DANCE.

"Can I give you my number?" I asked. I think that’s when he followed his second yes (yes I could give him my number) with, “I knew this was going to be a good day,” and smiled even broader.

While I was continuing my happy dance inside my head, I told him, "I'm not usually this forward.” That was both a lie and not a lie. I've given my number to plenty of guys in my life without them asking, just not recently. And when I did give my number out in the past, I didn’t give a rat about the guy so there was no threat to me putting it out there. What I rarely do is put myself out there for a guy who might matter. That terrifies me. (Yeah, flying the normal flag again.)

As he followed me back to the table I was sitting at (where I'd left my purse) so I could get one of my cards out, I mumbled something about how odd it was that he was at WF, how odd it was for me (as I never go to WF for lunch during work), and that's when he said, "See? The universe was trying to tell you something."

I'm sorry. What? Did you just say the candy word to my ears, universe?

Love, LOVED, that he'd used the word universe. (Duh!) Oh, and I know I over-use the word duh, but is there a word better than duh when a duh wants to show up? My mind was like, if the word universe is in your regular vocabulary, chances are, we might just get along.

Story done? I didn’t run the errand I’d attached to going to WF for besides getting away from work. I didn't get my Kombucha or my hemp seed. Done, I thought. He was my errand. I can go now.

Since, I have been collecting some of the wonderful things that have been happening on our dates. Since, every part of me that is a girl hopes that I’ll get to enjoy him for a while, for…


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