8.4.05 Belize

I just found this. I think it was on my first blog too.  Wow. It’s an interesting look back. This was written a decade ago. I was on my first vacation abroad alone in Belize. To see that woman through the eyes of the woman I am today. Married Expat still fighting the same fears, but in different incarnations. With both evolved and devolved aspirations.


I’m trying to get out and do things.  Just like at home I’m gripped by fear before leaving the room.  So I’m forcing myself to go snorkeling with a group today.  Tomorrow I’ll go to the jungle and the ruins.  Tonight I’ll figure out a way to make into town and go to the festivities for Miss Central America.   My fear response is to get sleepy right now.  


I really want to be on this vacation with somebody.  Of course it’s romantic, but just to be with someone who knows me.

No, it is romantic and I do want to be with a man I care about here.  That’s not unreasonable.  I got an email from a friend who always plays the “when we’re in…” game with and boy did that make me sad.  Sure I love him (all friendly like.  Well that’s not altogether true.   I know he’s wrong for me and not that into me and has never had a relationship past 2 months and I don’t’ want to risk our friendship for me to be the first one and he hasn’t approached me with the proposition which I would of course take in a heartbeat.)

This is going to be the time of all of these hypocrisies and idiosyncrasies.  Maybe 31 should be my year of the hypocrite.  In order to conquer fear I do the exact opposite of what I know to be right.  I trust my instincts on physical danger and emotional harm, but fuck it.   I live such a safe right life.  I want more adventure in my life and the only way to go about getting it is to go out and get into more trouble.  I almost censored that out.  I don’t know if I would call it trouble, but my life is so calm.  Nothing changes if I don’t change my behavior.   I wish one of these vitamins was to give me the courage to just do anything I felt like doing.  I am going into town tonight.  I’ll just arrange it.  I have the money. Or at least I will when by the time I get this going.  I have the best people around me.  I am so blessed.  Who’d have thunk that I’d be so lucky?  I have a great life .


But again it begs the question why don’t I have a man to share it with.

Insecurity.  Not feeling perfect.  Thinking I have to be in order to get the man I want.  Daydreaming about men I don’t know and thinking I have to do all of these tasks to be worthy of the company of a rich, smart, beautiful man…who could be a real asshole.  


What do I want to write that would sell?  What could I write?


If I turn this trip into a type of travel log how would I go about it?  

For me though, outline the romance.

Laying on the chaise rubbing oil onto my own back I longed for a touch that wasn’t my own.  I’ve grown weary of my own touch.  I long for the meaning behind casual caresses.  The conversation behind it.  I long for the silences.  To be able to communicate entire paragraphs in the silence of a touch.  Lifetimes.  Safety.  Empires.  In one touch.  It must be a beautiful gift.  In my fantasy life I meet this man that can’t take his eyes off of me.  He approaches me with something off beat and witty.  I counter equally as witty and maybe a little farther offbeat.  We start talking and can’t stop.  [I’ve recently come to realize that I don’t know what to do to flirt with a man.  I mean someone I don’t just want to take home.  How to entice a man into wanting to get to know me better.  I’m so busy doing my own thing, (and my mistype of doing my own think was accurate as well) that I may have dropped too many of the things that make a woman a woman too early.  I don’t have the power and success (in capitalist terms) to make my hardness warranted.  I’d love to be all soft and gooey, but I’m not soft and gooey for  myself.  I’m practicing,- no. no but.  As with anything I have to practice.  I’m practicing writing.  I’m practicing being a writer (whatever that means).  I’m beginning the practice of being a paid writer.  That hits my core self esteem issues.  That is the core worth issue.  What if I’m no good.  I’ve said I want to write.  I call myself a writer.  The only treatise I’ve written is that thesis.  


Well time to go snorkeling.


More later.

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