Who holds your umbrella during the shit storm?

umbrellas art flying
Photo by Adrianna Calvo on Pexels.com

Wanna freak people out? Thank them for being in your life.

I had a bloody awful morning. The waves of physical, mental and emotional exhaustion were sweeping my ass out to sea. It was bad. And… in that place, with the few gasps of air I could manage in between being pulled under, I was able to see people who are here for me.

I was sad about someone who wasn’t. And that’s dumb.  No one is obligated to check on me, or care for me, or anything, even if I’ve done it for them, there is no law saying it has be reciprocal.

So, I sent a few messages to a handful of people (we’ll call them my umbrella holders), ranging from “thanks for being my friend”, “sorry I’ve been a shitty friend to you”, “thanks for checking on me”, nothing major or long to anyone. And I think people jumped to very bad conclusions, which is fucked up for a few reasons. Is gratitude so uncommon that when it is shown to us, we assume the worst?

I posted a while ago about uneven significance. Some of my umbrella holders are people I have never offered anything to, really. And they are still steadfast to me. And that’s not fair. It’s amazing. I’m deeply humbled by that. And I intend to try to do better by them, as much as I can. And the person I was sad about, I’ve not only offered him an umbrella but I fucking built him like.. a deluxe shelter house with free wi-fi when he was going through shit, and when I vocalized my shit storm, he was MIA. And that’s okay. I unfriended and blocked him as an act of self-care. It’s not always bubble baths and face masks and time in nature.  Sometimes it’s… taking out the emotional trash, cleaning out stagnant, unhealthy energy. No drama, no hard feelings, just.. protecting my bubble. If people cut me out/off, I’d get it.  You do you, boo, if that don’t involve me, no worries, light and love to you.

The most amazing thing is, I know, in my core, the people I reached out to, were truly just like.. a drop in my umbrella holder bucket. If I canvassed my social media, my coworkers, my landscape, asking for support, saying I need help, reaching out, I know, without a doubt, people would rise up, they’d open up their umbrellas and keep me dry during my shit storm. Don’t be afraid to be vulnerable.  Let people surprise you. Good or bad. Either way, it’s a lesson, it’s a story, it’s a starting point for change and growth and improvement. And for the love of God/Goddess/Spirit, say thank you. Say it more often. Appreciate liberally. Love profoundly. Live openly… full assedly…  😉

“Now that it’s raining more than ever
Know that we still have each other
You can stand under my umbrella”  Queen RiRi

“Thank you for being a friend
Traveled down a road and back again
Your heart is true, you’re a pal and a confidant” Golden Girls Theme Song

 

Tinder Mud

Tinder Mud

I have a link to here on my Tinder profile. I know that is where most of my traffic comes from. (Hey Tinder peeps!). So let’s talk about Tinder.

If you were directed here, from there, you’ve seen my profile. Give me just a sec though to recap for anyone else. I have my profile so finely crafted. It’s been perfected over the time I’ve been in Tinderland. It is one of the best filtering mechanisms ever, truly.

(“There is no such thing as conversation. It is an illusion. There are intersecting monologues, that is all”

Let’s intersect each others monologues…

Looking to chat, to pass the time. Truly that’s it. If you’re looking for more, pass me by.)

So, pretty definitely clearly not looking for a hook up, or dick pics, or a boyfriend. It’s good. I have a female friend who is also on Tinder. Her profile is more of… “I don’t know what I’m looking for, I’m open to possibilities.”  Which is great. It’s also probably why she’s had half a dozen men start conversations with her with the great greeting of, “Anal?” (Guys… that’s not an opener. You gotta work up to that, both verbally and physically, just sayin’).

So, you know the whole symbolism of the lotus? The story basic white girls tell when they get that tattoo? (No judgement, I just spend $1000 covering up a tattoo so, there is nothing but love in that observation). The lotus blooms from mud. It’s not in some neat, well manicured lawn in the suburbs. It is like… “Here is some fucking disgusting muck, and I’m gonna mother fucking bloom.” And this is much like my Tinder experience.

I think I’m lucky. I think my profile is helpful. I don’t know. I still have a few guys who try to do something they maybe shouldn’t, but I also have amazing people who start conversations with me by asking about what I think the meaning of life is. My friend, who’s greeted with, “Anal?”… she’s still growing through the mud, I think. I feel like I am at the blooming stage. And each amazing interaction I have unfolds another petal.

When I mention Tinder people get all hoity-toity. “Why are you on there?”  “You know it’s just guys looking to fuck, right?” “Ewww, that app is gross.” And like.. sure, full disclosure, I have slept with two guys from Tinder, one well after a year of us being friends, and the other as part of a relationship of sorts, neither were rando hook-ups, but even if they had been.. whatever. I think it is like much of life. It is what you make of it.

For some people it is a hook up app. Good for that, good for them, get that booty, y’all. For some people it’s a means to feed an ego, or to boost confidence, or to distract them or.. I don’t know. If you’re using a hammer you could be hanging up a picture, or murdering someone, the tool is the same in either scenario. So, I guess I want to start looking at the other tools I have and making sure I’m using them to help me bloom as well, and I so strongly encourage you to do that too.