Knotty Thursday: Mermaid of Lowkey Pining

 

Good morning sunbeams! Last night was so lovely, I just got all cozy and confined and read some books in bed. I love the ritual of making this time for myself--lighting candles and burning rose incense. Not even music this time, just me and the ropes.

I didn't feel like looking anything up, but this felt like a good way to keep practicing my chain stitch. And! I can do an alpine loop without looking it up now! For the most part! Somewhat-daily knot practice is paying off.

I still miss Sweet Valentine so much, it's hard not to rehearse for rejection or reach out and try to get his attention. Giving us both space to reflect is kind and loving, but I hate it and wish it could be over already. I hate living in uncertainty, but it's very good for me to practice. I guess if my heart misses him all month long, that's some information for me.

I have the dating apps paused for now too--not because I'm waiting for him (I'm kind of waiting for him.) but because I don't want to do the addictiony thing of trying to "fix" one set of feelings with another. I want to be present with myself and feel all the things! Mostly I want to feel trust and self-love. Sometimes I even feel serene.

Lastly guess what! I ordered longer, goddess-sized ropes! They're turquoise and should arrive on Friday! I can't believe it's taken me this long to realize it would be nice to have bigger ropes for my great big body! That feels like love.

Sweet Valentine, Part Five: Princess of Saying Stuff

 Last night I was in an online Codependents Anonymous meeting with a handful of strangers and we were talking about the feeling of floating, the moments when it feels like Higher Power has us and we can just cruise along and accept the gifts. I admitted that lately, when I'm in that good floaty place is when I tend to make my love mistakes. But then I realized! Maybe they weren't mistakes! Maybe my soul knows what it's doing and I don't understand it yet! 

For now, I'm not going to try and understand it. I'm just gonna celebrate Sweet Valentine and hope for the best.

The night before Valentine's Day, I went to the little shop down the block to get roses and vegan cupcakes for my new dear. I hoped he would bring presents, but I wanted to make sure presents were there. One thing I'm extremely certain about is that such a cute connection deserved to be celebrated.

On Saturday mornings, I'm usually playing games and listening to The Flop House, so that's what I did. I told him to text when he was on his way, that the door was unlocked. I felt both like a human and like a fantasy, made of something between bones and lace. When I was younger and more pretentious, I used to describe myself as diaphanous, and that kinda works here--grounded and floating. See-through and also (maybe a little too) real.

I was working away on my Animal Crossing island when he arrived, smelling of him. He came right into bed and we kissed and cuddled, folded into each other like he'd been there all along. "I missed you before I met you, " I said. Princess of saying stuff.

(I forgot to tell you about a moment from our Wednesday date, when I told him he had some of my purple face glitter on him, and he rubbed his face against mine to get more, like he wanted to cover himself in me. I felt exactly the way a sentient cupcake might feel when it's getting devoured with gusto. In the wise words of Lizzo, Lick the icing off, put the rest in your face.)

There's something about his presence that hooks me in at the middle, at the crux of my being. He makes me feel safe and seen, like he has me. I felt like I could relax and be myself and not second-guess every move I made. Really, there didn't need to be much thinking at all, just wise and beautiful bodies carrying us through the day. 

When he was wrapped around me, I felt home. When I was kneeling in my cozy bow-down-to-Love-Itself spot looking up at him sitting on my bed, I felt tiny and treasured. He called me Princess, and I felt him mean it. I asked him to be my boyfriend, and after clarifying what that would entail, he agreed. I felt absolutely confident asking, but from a couple weeks away, it feels insane. 

Friends, I miss him so, so much. I'm giving him time and space to figure things out, giving myself time and space to see what I really want. There's three more weeks left of that time and right now, here's how I feel:

I will be so, so sad if I don't get to keep getting to know him, but I want to give him the space I promised. For myself, I want to keep heartspace for partners with more time, more surety, more bandwidth, but right now, I just want him. I want a chance to start over and take our time, to step back into the flow of him, to someday be part of his life. I want to take walks and hold hands.

I know I'm usually more explicit with the sex part, but for right now I want to keep it to myself, and for him. 

Sweet Valentine, Part Four: Between Two Dates

 

How would anyone understand things without Mary Oliver?

Like a lot of people with Relationship OCD and probably non-divergent daters as well, I struggle with the time between the first date and the second. The uncertainty is hard, yes, but my brain always wants to rehearse for the eventual ghosting or other kind of rejection. I have to be ready to say goodbye perfectly, because if I don't, I feel shame. To react anything less than magnanimously to rejection feels like a violation of consent, like I'm impinging on the person's bodily autonomy. As with many things, OCD makes fraught things fraughter, and I would like it to please pipe down.

I had no hesitation about asking him out for Valentine's morning though, it just felt right! Like, we're both cute and horny and full of spiritual love, why not do the traditional Valentine things? We deserve it!

But then. The plan-making process. The waiting-to-hear-back! I started to wonder if I'd sabotaged our chances by picking such a pressureful day. Maybe I did! Or maybe our chances are just what they are. 

As soon as the plan was made, the time was chosen, I felt like going all in. I felt like Aphrodite in my Valentine's Eve dress at school. I was g l o w i n g with hope, joy, and confidence. I even thanked Blue Ribbon Work Crush for being the greatest work crush of all time--going on three years! We had a little whirlwind of cute before going back to our normal high fives and safe little flirts.

I worried that Sweet Valentine would think I was cliche if he showed up and I was in red lingerie with a bouquet of multicolored roses and some chocolate cupcakes, but also, this is our one and only life, and it was Valentine's Day. It might have artificially raised the stakes, but I wouldn't trade that morning-to-afternoon for anything in this world. But if crashing into each other like waves made it so I wouldn't get to keep getting to know him, I'm sorry about it too.

It feels painful to think of writing about the sweetness and hotness and rightness of that day, not knowing what will become of him and me, not knowing where this break-to-reflect will take us. But I'll write it in good hot faith when I'm ready, I promise. 

How Do I Grieve a Fantasy?

 I passed The Guy Next Door in the driveway this morning and he said three words: "I'm moving out." My main feeling about this is relief, with a healthy dose of the Universe loves me! But I also feel guilty and sad and I have the continuing sensation of waking up and realizing it was all a (sometimes bad) (mostly bad?) dream. I don't miss him like I used to, but I miss how much room he took up in my heart.

The first night we hung out, when he talked about creating a garden "for us both to enjoy," I saw an entire adorable future for us: Together but living in our respective apartments, meeting on his patio for tea. Having just the cutest story about how we got together. And finally, finally, being able to give up the quest for love! Because I found it right outside my door!

I've always had a vivid romantic imagination, but this was different. I'm scared about how much it felt like I "knew" he was the right one for me. I guess if I'd been right I could call it intuition, but as things are, I'm tempted to call it delusion. But I don't think I got there on my own.

(The day of the last date, he said a parallel to the "for us both to enjoy" thing, he said he wanted to knock out a wall in his place so we could have breakfast on my terrace in the mornings. I like leaving the terrace nature-y for the birds, but what a nice idea!)

I remember laying in bed that first night feeling ELATED, feeling sure that he would stay here and be weird with me forever.

In the end, I felt like we were a cult of two, caught on a roller coaster of shared madness. (Codependent Crazy, my sponsor would call it.) After our break-off I looked up his (stated) diagnosis, Bipolar 2, and it described exactly what I'd been through with him--unpredictable moods, various degrees of lying, cycles of happiness and misery. It helped me to understand a little,  to give myself compassion about it, but it doesn't explain why I made the choices I did.

I could sit here and list his lies and red flags as evidence I got gaslit, tricked. But the important thing is--I chose him! And then re-chose him! So I'm asking myself, what made the fantasy so powerful?

Maybe it's as simple as a desire to fall in love and still keep my apartment? Maybe it's my porous nervous system and mirror neurons taking my brain to the mercurial place where his brain lives? Or maybe my dang soul just thought I could learn a lot from getting tangled up in him! I sure did!

Maybe I was lonely and needed a friend just as badly as he did!

I like my fantasy brain and plus, it's an autistic trait so I refuse to shame myself for it! But I'm afraid to sweep myself up into something so one-sided and shifting ever again. I know I can create beauty and romance out of pretty much anything, but I don't want to do it on my own, independently of reality. That's what art is for, not relationships.

It's snowing again and I'm using all of my self-care/hunkering down skills, lighting candles and feeling all the feelings, being where I really am.

I think part of my TGNS journey was about wanting to escape my own life, wanting to evade whatever growth and pain and love I'm finding on my own.

Or, I just loved him. He was my friend and I miss him, and I miss the idea of him I made up in my head. Both. I'm never gonna sort out the real from the imagined, the lies from the information, the throwing-away-art from the making of art in the first place. 

These days I'm supposed to be all twelve-steppy and put things in the care of my higher power, so that's what I'm doing. My HP and his will have to figure this out. In this case, I think, the Higher Power might just be time.

Sweet Valentine, Part Three: The Ropes Really Like Him and I Do Too!

OMG how did he get so beautiful?!

As I sit down to type this, I feel half "we went too fast and I lost my chance to truly get to know him" and half "whoa our bodies (and souls?!) really knew what they were doing that Wednesday morning after yoga!" Since I can't fully understand what it means, I'll focus on how it felt, which was unequivocally, dizzily wonderful.

Putting the ropes on Sweet Valentine, I didn't really feel like a Ma'am. Part of the appeal of this connection was how evenly matched we are in some ways. He IS a sweet precious baby boy, but he's also a man with a real, full life and a big stake in his/our community. AND he's in therapy?! So hot.

It's hard to latch onto details because the morning was such a blur of joy and release--I felt both very present AND in a fog. The Pink Haze, my name for the way horniness steers the ship in the right direction sometimes, was in full effect.

His shoulders are made of the most beautiful triangles in existence. His body reminds me of the Greek hall at the Met, so perfectly carved by nature and light. I felt perfectly carved by nature and light too! The sun was shining directly into my body, heart, and soul.

And I felt secure, like all of me was in such safe hands. Dad vibes I guess, or just his open and beautiful attention. Maybe both. My word for the year is trust and on this day I felt like I was living it.

I found out later (or maybe he told me at the coffeeshop and I just missed it) that this was his First Ever Poly Date!!! Not the first one he made plans with, but the first not-his-wife lady he kissed since they started their adventure. I wish I'd taken this into account, asked him questions deeper than "Are the ropes pinching anywhere?" and "Am I doing a good job?"

Or maybe it's better that the ropes and our bodies did most of the talking? Praise flew out of my face like it always does. And much as I get vexed by the just saying stuff aspect of dating, boy did I say stuff. Such as:

"When I put the ropes on you, that means you're mine. And when I take them off...you're still mine."

The kissing and the sex both felt like we were trying to meld into one body, one spirit, not tangled but interwoven. Bound but free. Grounded and kind.

No wonder I've been feeling such floods of emotion following our (first?) two dates--having my needs met so thoroughly and kindly is BEAUTIFUL and also so big that it freaks me the fuck out a little. That be not afraid feeling of encountering angels.

Not that day though. All I felt when he left that afternoon was:

1. THANK GOD The Guy Next Door didn't kiss me!! What if I'd gotten distracted by his mess and MISSED THIS?! Sometimes it's so clear that Love Itself is looking out for me.

2. Sweet Valentine is someone really special to me.

3. This is the kindness I deserve. I hope he feels that way too. He deserves every single happiness in the world, such a precious sweet baby soul.

I spent most of the day in bed, napping/glowing/napping/glowing. I felt peaceful and fulfilled and happy. I knew OCD would chime in with the thoughts soon enough, but that day found me with a quiet brain and a full heart--a miracle just as it was.

Princess of Livid

Bridesmaid dresses were kind of wild back then!
Or maybe the ladies in my family are just weirdos?

 It seems like the dumbest thing I've ever been mad about, but I think it's important. Week before last, on a Sunday morning, I was figuring out what to say to Mr. Breakfast and feeling jangled about some other stuff, when I heard The Guy Next Door talking in baby voice to whoever his date was:

"...and I treat her like a princess. I treat you like a princess, too. No fetish is ever gonna..."

Now, I'm pretty lucky for someone who lives next door to her onerous unrequited kryptonite crush. I've only run into him once since our break-off conversation, and I don't overhear anything blush-inducing. I almost always have white noise or music on, there's only just a sliver of space where I can hear anything at all. But there he was in that sliver of space. I wasn't eavesdropping, I just heard it.

I'm sure he wasn't saying it for me to hear, he was just saying stuff. I know him well enough that I'm pretty sure he's not treating anyone like a princess, but that's not how it landed.

The message my tangled heart heard was that I wasn't good enough, that other women deserved to be treated like princesses and I'd failed some mysterious test. This is one of my oldest and loudest and most destructive intrusive thoughts: "You're not as good as other women, they know something you don't and can't know."

Why my brain appointed him the designated arbiter of my worth is a question for infinite Codependents Anonymous meetings, but in that moment, I felt like I winked out of existence, the woozy, drowning feeling of being not there. If they were the princesses, if they had somehow gained his fleeting and sand-castle-like attention, then there was no reason for there to be a me at all. 

(How am I ever supposed to date men when I have thoughts like that? Makes me want to get myself to some kind of non-denominational anti-Fascist nunnery where I could garden and call congress and read books and forget that men ever were.)

He wasn't saying it for me to hear, but he knew it was a pet name I loved. I'd showed him my Feeld profile mentioning being a princess. (In fact, when he read the part about me looking for a sweet dom who's good with ropes, he said "Well you found him." That motherfucker could really SAY STUFF.)

Anyway, the morning of the overhearing, I was LIVID. I'M the princess, goddammit, how could he take even that away from me?

(The 30 Rock joke about "sexually transmitted crazymouth" comes to mind, although I guess it was transmitted via weird nebulous friendship instead.)

(Semi-platonically transmitted crazymouth?)

Anyway, it made me want to think about why the word "princess" feels so important to me.

I remember a moment, not too long after my teenage sexual assault, dressed up for Halloween in the above bridesmaid dress and looking in the mirror. The lipstick I'd just applied looked like clown makeup to me. All of me felt false, artificial, foolish, absent. I had some nerve dressing up as a princess, I was barely even a woman. I was barely even anything. I wiped the makeup off but wore the dress.

The next time I wore that dress, I was in my very early twenties and part of an art happening. My project was to create a pink-themed pyramid of everything about me, and let people take home anything that spoke to them. A stranger went home with a box of my love letters and I can't say I regret this choice! My brother got livid with me because I gave away the Barbie he'd given me the Christmas before.

After the show, when most of the pink pyramid was gone, I felt empty but also less alone. If I couldn't figure out how to be close to people, at least I could get them to take a piece of me home.

After that night, the friend who ran the art show started calling me Princess (My Name)--he even wrote a song about me! I LOVED being Princess Me. These were my raver years and also my shoplifting-at-my-friends'-mall-stores years, so I was never without shiny too-short dresses, manic panic hair, and Urban Decay makeup. And glitter. So, SO much glitter. And sometimes bubbles that were also candy. It was a magical time.

One time a guy I flirted with at the coffeehouse told me I looked like I was from space, and that felt like the highest compliment.

Between the mid-Nineties and whenever I made my Feeld profile, the Princess persona got less plasticky, but never lost its glitter. It morphed from a costume to a gender expression, a femme way of fiercely, adamantly claiming womanhood in a world that was never gonna declare me to be womaning properly.

Calling myself a princess was a way to give myself what I felt like no one else was ever gonna give me, a way to treat myself like a magical treasure, the way I saw (or more likely imagined) other, smaller, quieter, more conventionally beautiful women being valued, being attended to. It was a way to attend to myself, a skill I'm still trying to learn.

In the weeks following my unfortunate overhearing, I have been treated so, SO kindly. 

For example:

Sweet Valentine: What song is this?

Me: I Wanna Be Adored by The Stone Roses.

Sweet Valentine: And you are!

I've been treated kindly by my friends, too, and my Higher Power, and by the gently-thawing weather. And most importantly, by myself. People are welcome to join me in my princess-ness, but I have to treat myself that way, and keep doing it.

Right in this moment, I feel the truth: No one can decide whether I'm a princess, or any other pet name, except me. Right now, I feel like I'm up to the challenge of self-love.

Knotty Thursday: Yay Alpine Loop!

 

Last night I wanted to get my ropes done a little early because I had a phone call with my brand new Codependents Anonymous sponsor! That went really fruitfully and so did this!

I found good instructions on how to make the Alpine Loop!  Laying it flat instead of looping it over my hand made it easier to see what was going on--it made it make sense! Originally I had planned to just practice the knot, but I started to understand how to do the chain stitch corset I was working on the other week! This is a very rough draft, but I'm getting somewhere!

Rope night felt lonely though! When I tried this corset the other week, (soon to be) Sweet Valentine was texting me throughout the process, and I really, really liked his company. And last week! The beautiful miracle of his kisses, the way my simple Hishi Karada glowed magenta against his skin. The smell of him in my bed. The tide of desire taking us to exactly where we needed to go. Trust and my heart opening up like a flower.

It was a good sort of lonely last night though, a healthy kind. I didn't want to paper over the feelings with drama or torture myself with comparison. I just felt it. I miss him.

Also!! I need longer ropes! Things would be so pretty with less stopping to add length! 

Sweet Valentine Part Two: The Way He Kissed Me Makes Me Wish I Were Still a Poet

 

Currently, Sweet Valentine and I are on a pause, taking stock of things. I need time and space to feel some griefs and manage some OCD/codependency stuff, and he needs time to think about what he really wants and can offer. Usually I would just let someone go at this point, good old "If it's a maybe then it's a no." from Cuddle Party rules. But I didn't want to let him go. I asked if we could be in touch in a month and see where we're at, and he agreed. I don't know if that decision is hopeful or just avoiding the inevitable, but I really, REALLY hope I get to kiss him again.

Back to the perfect coffee date. When it felt like we were wrapping up at the coffeeshop, I said "Well, should we take it slow and say goodbye here, or should we go to my place?"

He picked coming over, hooray hooray!

This all felt easy and natural in a way that's rare for me! Letting chemistry carry us forward like a slutty and helpful wind. No overthinking, no negotiations, just him on my couch. <3 <3 <3 Just pouring ourselves into each other.

He may not, in the course of the processings and ponderings, turn out to be the right one for me, but we kissed like we were absolutely meant for each other. His mouth tasted of nothing but mouth. He didn't mind when I bit his lip. Our tongues slid together and apart and around and across. His beard skritched and sanded my face in the most satisfying and life-affirming way.

It's hard to believe something so beautifully transcendent could happen on an ordinary Wednesday morning, in the middle of my ordinary couch nest. Surrounded by books and blankets and Squishmallows, with Younger Cat nosing her way in with typical comic timing. Home. Magic. Peace.

Sweet Valentine, Part One: The Perfect Coffee Date

 

Every once in a while, there's just a transcendently good date. In this story, there are two! 

I planned our first date for right after yoga, maybe that's why the vibes were so easy and flowy. He sat down beside me and there was instant cozy chemistry. He gazed at me and said "I'm just looking at your face." I put my head on his shoulder. I asked him if I could kiss him on the cheek and he said yes.

Oh friends! The talking was so good. We had so much in common spiritually, both grounded and floaty at the same time. Our separate lives felt like puzzle pieces clicking into place. I wanted to tell him every single thing and he was share-y too, an avalanche of getting-to-know-you. No small talk, just big talk. Home, safety, joy.

He has long, beautiful musician hands, and they were holding mine. We kissed right there in front of the vegan scones. The kiss was at the far edge of chaste, and it was JUST RIGHT. 

"You're in," I said, with the biggest smile. In that moment, he felt absolutely meant for me! And, just for that moment, he was.

He knew I was still tender from Christmastime stuff, and I sort of meant to take this slow. But when I asked, "Should we take it slow and leave it here or should I just take you home?" He chose coming over. I'm so glad he did but I'm also wondering what would have happened if we'd left it there instead of having the most beautiful/sweet/hot morning and early afternoon. 

Knotty Thursday: OMG I have a Valentine!

 

Yesterday started with yoga class, maybe all Wednesdays should! About halfway through the class, I got overwhelmed and hot, so I just lay down and breathed for most of the sesh. It's not always easy to find a sense of privacy, stillness, peace, so I rested there. The teacher pulled an oracle card for me about the ocean, about making the unconscious conscious. I left the class hot with energy and so excited for my coffeeshop date right after.

I want to keep the story close for now, but friends, the ropes liked this guy! The day felt easy and blessed, like faith. After he left midafternoon, I ravished myself and spent most of the day in bed. I feel lucky, giddy, and full. I can't wait to see what happens next! <3 <3 <3

Oh, Mr. Breakfast!

 I liked him on Facebook Dating, but I heard from him in my DMs. He said he'd accidentally swiped left when he scrolled through my music selections, so he sought me out through one of our two mutual friends! Effort! I thought that was so sweet.

His answers to my screening questions made me feel like I was in good hands. I liked his job and his face. We made a date for the best diner in his neighborhood. He took two busses to get there, despite the fact that it was blustery and like ten degrees. Honestly I should get some kind of reward for doing anything at all when its this aggressively February out!

He charmed me right away with his love of breakfast. It's one of those old fashioned diners that has a million things on the menu, but we bonded over our love of breakfast, and we ordered enough to have dinner and take some home for the next day. A man I can eat in front of! I felt so free and happy and full of French toast and bacon and damn fine diner coffee.

And the conversation was the perfect combination of overshare-y and polite. We both talked about our therapists--how hot is it to be on a date with a guy who's in therapy?! He was fragile, though, apologetic. "You're allowed to exist, " I said at one point. I was being either very Ma'am or very codependent. Por que no los dos?

His face was sweet and soft, mostly made out of smile. He's a little taller than me, soft in places but strong. Dark-skinned with charmingly scraggly locs. Extremely my type, of course he was.

After diner, it was decided that I should come over and meet his dog. Once we got in the car, I realized I'd left my hat inside, and he faced the weather to go get it for me--gallant. Effortful. Kind. So promising!

 He apologized in advance for the parking situation--his neighb is one where I've had can't-find-a-parking-space panic attacks before, and our city is filled with glaciers and mounds of hard, frozen grey snow. We agreed that if a spot couldn't be found, it meant we would take it slow and try another day.

Driving around looking for a spot with him was so much fun! Even though he, a non-driver, had driving advice aplenty! At least he could laugh at himself being a side seat driver. And he joined in my little stim songs like an absolute champ. I felt far from panic! This guy made me feel so strong and grounded, or maybe it was just me making myself feel that way.

Anyway, I parallel parked on a part-glacier, on a narrow street, with a car waiting impatiently behind us! It was beautiful, how neatly I parked. Honestly the biggest rush of the night.

When we got to his place, we kissed, and I asked to be under a thousand blankets please. Two very fluffy ones were enough, and the very good dog joined us for a snuggle. The perfect place to be on a freezing cold night, but he wanted the basketball game on TV. I asked if we could put on something nice instead, and he had to go find batteries for the remote so he could put on Steven Universe for me. Having the TV off was not an option, and eventually, the game would have to come back on.

The non-negotiable sports TV might have been the dealbreaker, if not for this:

We were talking about fetishes we had and he said

that he likes to initiate sex

while his partner is asleep!

I called him out for how not-consensual that was, and he admitted that he felt bad about it, and obviously he wouldn't do it if I'm not "into that."

I was tempted to name him "Sleep Rape Guy" but thought it would be too triggering right up top. The thing is, I went home feeling like it was a good date with a few red flags. It didn't sink in how scared I was until the next morning, when I texted and told him WAY TOO FUCKING GENTLY that we weren't a good match. Because of the SLEEP RAPE FETISH.

Dating is so hard and scary and de-humanizing sometimes. There's an OCD thought that's trying to be loud right now, telling me I'm only good for taking advantage of, for raping or using up in other ways, while other women have value and deserve to be treated with kindness. I don't know if other women are having such an easy time either though.

It's been a triggersome, hurty couple days since. I'm proud of (belatedly) saying no to Mr. Breakfast and of caring for myself as best I can. My next date is Wednesday, and I think it will probably be a lot gentler on my poor heart. Here's (Somehow! Still!) hoping. 

Knotty Thursday! Chain Stitch Corset Kind of!

 

Yesterday was such a lovely day! Guess what! I went to yoga for the first time since pre-pandemic! And I can still sort of do most of the things! I took it as easy as possible and listened to my body's boundaries, it felt so good. The teacher pulled me an oracle card that told me to jump into adventure, but tiptoeing seems like a good strategy for now!

For tope night, chose this one to try, a pretty chain-stitch rope dress: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DTqfIEI-TXA I've done aspects of it before and I definitely want to try again. I know I can make an alpine loop but for some reason, I just got stuck! I watched and tried it so many times, looked it up in my rope book to see if that would help, but I just kept ending up with a handful of confusion. I had to move on or OCD would have swooped in and wrecked the occasion.

Instead, I made something pretty and got on with my night--I'm so proud. I love thinking of progress as a spiral, where things don't work and then sometimes, the next time around, they do! Just like those things I'm re-learning in yoga.

Perfectionism is always lurking, always here to stop me from moving the tiniest bit forward. But little steps forward in faith, I think that's the way to go.