"If writers possess a common temperament, it's that they tend to be shy egomaniacs; publicity is the spotlight they suffer for the recognition they crave." Gail Caldwell, from her book "Let's Take The Long Way Around"

"To look life in the face, always to look life in the face and to know it for what it is. At last to know it, to love it for what it is, and then, to put it away. . .always the years. Always the love. Always the hours." From the movie "The Hours", based on the book of the same name by Michael Cunningham

"Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly." Baz Luhrman, "Everybody's Free (to wear sunscreen)"

"A writer can do nothing for men more necessary, satisfying, than just simply to reveal to them the infinite possibility of their own souls." Walt Whitman

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant or talented?’ Actually, who are you not to be?” Marianne Williamson

Monday, September 27, 2010

Prelude

About 11 years ago, a heart-wrenching thing happened to me.  After only two and a half years of marriage my husband Deril and I were drifting in a sense; he was more and more focused on his career as a ballet master and choreographer, wanting desperately to make a difference and make a name for himself by training his most dedicated and talented dancers to be professional.  Up until this point, I had been the sole focus of his attention, something I had longed for my entire life, to be loved and attended to as I never had been.  I was desperate to have his attention back.  I knew he loved me, but he hardly said it anymore and everything revolved around dance.  We were finding out that we needed to have our own lives in order to have a life together.  I didn't get it yet.

One night, after a long day of class and rehearsals, we went to our usual restaurant for dinner and drinks (I was in a martini phase - vodka martini with 3 olives).  Deril was being serious; I wanted to be in the romantic place we used to be with each other on nights out.  And then he asked me the question I dreaded:  if we somehow ended up not being together, would I be okay?  He was serious.  Would I have an emotional and mental breakdown?  Would I be suicidal?  Would I simply be able to take care of myself?

At first, the tears came.  I couldn't imagine life without him, couldn't imagine that he could want life without me.  How could I possibly get control of this situation and make him love me again?

But then the old me found myself.  I regained my composure, jutted out my chin and found my voice, bitter as it was.  Of course I would be fine.  I'd been fine my whole life and I would be fine again.  I was a survivor and I was used to being alone.  And the little voice deep down inside told me that I was stupid for having ever thought I could actually have what I want.

It was in this way that I survived my childhood, my life, from age 10 on.
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