The No Asshole Rule

“The trouble with simple living is that, though it can be joyful, rich, and creative, it isn't simple.” --Doris Janzen Longacre

It would take me hundreds of blog posts to give examples of how fucked up my life.  How I spent almost 30 years of not following my heart, my intuition to keep my life simple.  I love to travel and meet people; I enjoy trading stories and ideas.  I am my happiest when I am connecting with people.  Simple.  However I started to complicate my life with choices which took me into less simple waters.

“You’re so bright so why are you wasting your talents on traveling?”  “You have so much potential that you are letting go to waste.”  “Don’t you get bored?”  “How are you going to save for retirement?”

I listened to all these people give me their perfect advice.   They offered me opportunities and options to settle down.  I stopped listening and started acting.  And all that they promised and prophesized appeared to manifest.  However when the rough patches hit, my life went to shit.  When I would turn to others and ask for help, understanding or a temporary reprieve my words fell on deaf ears.

It has taken all this time for me to realize those people were where they wanted to be.  They were happy.  They became unhappy when I told them I was unfulfilled with the choices I had made.  The more I squawked, the more they would ramp up their efforts to force ‘compliance’.   My unhappiness threatened their belief that they had imparted the perfect guidance and counsel.  I mean, there was no way their advice may have been a misstep for me.

So today I tend keep to myself.  I share where I am on my journey.  I ask others where they believe they have journeyed on life’s path.  When I start hearing the ‘you should’ and the ‘you could’ statements flying about, I stay silent.   And then I keep whomever at an arm’s length.  I cannot live anyone’s idea of a joyful and creative life.  I want mine.  Simply mine.

Modern False Prophets

“A lie would have no sense unless the truth were to feel dangerous.” –Alfred Adler

Social networks are changing the way we communicate with the world.  They are transforming how we connect with others and how we represent ourselves to the public.  This blog is an example.  I know personally a dozen people who read it; however this blog has approximately three dozen weekly readers in total.   

If you subscribe to Sacred Contracts, I’m sure that you can identify my twelve primary archetypes.  If you do not, then I don’t have much to add other than this: These blogs are me.  For those who do not know me in person, these blogs are as personal as it gets.  If you don’t like what I write, then you won’t want to spend any one-on-one time with me.  If you believe what I am sharing would warrant me an invite for kaffee und kuchen, then we are on the same page.  For me blogging is about personal growth, and sharing my lessons/thoughts with whomever drifts this way.

Internet-based networking has changed how we write our stories.  We are the heroine, the artist, the storyteller, the warrior, the mystic, and the increasingly popular, victim.  You see the profiles.  The sock puppet accounts, the single ‘couples’ accounts, the love-me-for my-big-cock or big-titties accounts, the “I’m so misunderstood” accounts.

We see the empty profiles with a question mark for the personal icon, no groups, no wall posts, no events, maybe a handful of “friends”.  My thoughts:  Cheater or a second profile so someone can write about their real thoughts on a discussion board.  We see the individual account that has an introduction of “we are a couple”.  My thoughts:  Trouble in paradise or there are serious trust issues present.  Every so often someone writes a journal entry about the small-minded people are who only show a picture of their huge cock or udder-ly enormous breasts on their profile.  I do not think small-minded.  I think, “Nice.  Me like. I wonder how many people without ethics or ‘moral purpose’ are hitting on them right now?”  Boys and girls, this is a public service announcement: Transparent insecurity is an aphrodisiac to predators.

Then we see the profiles that have one or two lengthy paragraphs about how they, the profile owners, need to explain themselves.  They are just simple folk who are misunderstood by a few in the community.  And if you, the reader, ever talk to those rouge few, they just have to put the whole story out there, to explain all the rumors and false information you, the reader, may hear.  My thoughts: Drama-rama is part of their makeup.  And they must be pretty full of themselves to think I give two farts about the sliver of a chance I may run into these rouge few who have something unpleasant to say about them.  The profiles I really appreciate are those who say this-is-who-I-am without all the trappings and bullshit.

For the longest time I did not have a ‘real’ profile.  I called it a 'shell'.  Then I added two links: one to Twitter and one to this blog.  It has only been in the past few months I added the ‘petition for service’ part of my about me section.  Overall I have not changed my stance about how I want to connect with people: meet me at a munch or an event.  I give you glimpses of my thought processes via this blog.  However, if you really want to get to know the genuine article, you need to do it face to face.  No matter how many times I post to this blog or I modify my 'about me' section, you will never get to truly experience Me using an internet-based social network.

Twisted Knickers, Not

“If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it.” –Marcus Aurelius

Breadcrumbs were left by friends regarding a discussion thread about TNG, The Next Generation.  It’s a kinkster subset specifically for the youngest members of our community, those between 18 and 35 years old.  There are a couple ways around the age criteria.  I can attend by being a guest or partner of someone who is within the age limit.  That’s right, this almost 50 year old person can attend a TNG event if I am escorted by a TNG-er.  Or I can be the guest presenter/speaker at an event.  Yep, I can mingle with the all the newbies for doing a demo. 

Some believe the group is needed as a ‘gateway’ introduction to the lifestyle.  One can go to a munch without having to run into an older relative or having to deal with creepy old perverts with lecherous designs on fresh young things.  Some believe the group is all about ageism and provides no real service to the community.  All it does is create a false sense of security and it allows a generation to hide from the ‘elders’ while propagating bad habits.

TNG has left loopholes in its rulebook for people over-35 to attend their functions.  And I believe that is the salient argument of those who are against a group that has membership based upon age.  It appears the lowest age is the floor or a ‘hard limit’ because if the group is defined as 17-35, then a 16 year old may not attend.  Yet the group does not hold the upper age as a true ceiling, or an uppermost limit.  There are ways for people over-35 to be in attendance.

How about that early 40-something year old guy who goes to every event with the 20-something girlfriend he is dating that month?  He not only attends every TNG event, he helps to organize them too.  What about the late 40-something Mistress who shows up a few times a year with an under-35 pet?  She will leave her pet on a bar stool while making the rounds, chatting with all the unescorted subbies.

So as the rants and the “muck-rakery” continue, I think to myself that perhaps TNG should be limited to 29 years of age and a new group should be formed, The Transition Generation.  It would comprise of all the 30-somethings that didn’t want to be leered at by the old farts and not bothered by the antics of the kids.  If the kids want to go out and not have ‘people as old as their parents looking over their shoulders’, then maybe a 30-something doesn’t want to hang out in a bar with ‘kids not much older than their own children’.  (Snark alert)

I find the agruments for both sides to be flat and full of self-justification.  Personally I don’t give two flying fingerdoodles about either side of the subject.  The group exists.  I am excluded from the group because I do not meet all of its criteria.  Boo-hoo.  I’m so sad.  My feelings are really hurt.  Yeah, right.  Some groups aren’t my cup of tea and I wouldn’t join their membership even if I met all the criteria.  Like the KKK.  Or the Free Masons.  Or the Christian Coalition of America.

Being a exclusive club doesn’t make it or its members special.  If I wanted to attend a TNG Munch or party, I could find a 20-something subbie to take me to one.  However, I don’t want to attend a TNG munch.  I do not normally go to bars where the median age is in the mid 20s.  So why would I get my knickers in a twist over a munch?  However, if you are around my age and you do like going to bars where the median age is in the 20s, then please continue to do so.  While doing so, do realize munch attendance is not a civil liberty.

Simple Is Not Always So

“The most exhausting thing in life is being insincere.” --Anne Morrow Lindbergh

I am having a difficult time keeping compassion in my heart.  At first when the insensitive, the insecure, the unaware or the dim-witted come into my path I have compassion for their plight.  However, given time I begin to feel the welling up of irritation, anger, frustration.  Then guilt sets in and an internal struggle ensues.

Shouldn’t I be beyond such ego-driven needs of reciprocity in relationships?  Who said ‘mutual benefit’ is a necessity in life?  Is anything like this even mentioned in our constitution?  I mean, what is more intimate than someone caring so much about you that they want to help meet your needs?  Contrary to popular opinion I do not believe chicken soup feeds the soul.  A small helping of authentic sharing sates my appetite.

For me reciprocity implies the other person is responding to my needs and I am being ‘heard’.  Not just listened to, but heard.  Someone cares enough about me to process what I have shared with them and in turn shows me that “you like me, right now, you like me!” with their actions.

Problem is when I put myself in a position to rely on such give-and-take in a relationship, this is when I have been the most disappointed.  In fact, relying on others to keep me safe, to help me through the tough times or to lift me over troubled waters have been the lowest points of my life.  When I reflect on my moments where compassion is replaced by ill emotions, I realize I am being insincere. 

The feelings of anger and frustration are direct by-products of the lack of honesty I have with myself in that moment.  Sometimes it is about me reliving old hurts and projecting them on another.  Sometimes it is about me not being direct with a person because I don’t have the confidence to do so.  Sometimes it is as simple as me not taking care of my physical self, so my mental and emotional selves are in a state of exhaustion.

I cannot keep compassion, at times, in my heart because I hold it there by force.  I still experience compassion as an emotion, and not as a state of being.  Then I beat myself up with the reaction of guilt.  Vicious, exhausting cycle. 

The Buddha Nature of a Layperson

“He who rejects change is the architect of decay. The only human institution which rejects progress is the cemetery.” –Harold Wilson

Many, many moons ago when petrol was almost half the cost it is today, traveling for several hours on Sundays to The Zen Center was affordable.  Now that petrol is where it is today in price, such travels are outside of my budget.  It goes to say today my practice is solitary.  No Zen centers or structured sitting groups here in this small hamlet.

Traditional Buddhists will say I am not practicing properly because I do not sit on a regular basis with a teacher.  In countries that have an established and prevalent Buddhist community such a view is feasible.  I say that viewpoint is impractical in the United States.  Access to the community is limited in most places.  And for many of us it does not exist.  Many of us will practice as laypersons without formal teachings.

Besides the scarcity of others to practice with, let alone a mentor or teacher to seek guidance from, I question the authorities who want me to believe the only way to be a fully practicing Buddhist is to be someone’s student.  In one breath I hear that the act of sitting is ‘the practice’.  In another I hear to sit is enlightenment.  And then a few breaths later I hear to fully practice and be a Buddhist one must sit regularly with a teacher.

I believe the American layperson practicing Buddhism in solitude is going to change the face of Buddhism.  I see it starting a new school, a new tradition.

The Choices of a Social Hermit

“Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.” – from “The Teachings of Buddha”

My truth: The relationship status I have with myself is best described as “it’s complicated”.  I admit there are a few not-so-flattering facts I have come to realize about myself. 

 I have held close people who did not truly care for me, the real me; they cared only what I could do for them.  As soon as the money ran out, my mental energy faded or my good nature wore thin, “loved ones” disappeared to leave me to pick up the debris in the aftermath.  Physical and emotional. 

I have held close people who did not believe in my ability to accomplish what I set my mind to, even when it bucks convention.  When I needed true support when times got tough, I was given cursory encouragement and superficial assistance.

For the past two years I have stayed single.  So far I do a better job at not complicating my life with nonsense bullshit.  (Or should I say bullshiters?)  There is a reason those who can empty their lives of physical and emotional expectations choose monastic lives.  They separate themselves from the interference inherent when bringing into one’s inner circle the drama junky, the deceiving wretch, the confused child, the bratty twit. 

Even well meaning folk can derail us as they make requests of our time and energy.  We become a parent, a daughter, a sister, a son, a brother, a friend, a boss, a colleague, a student, a client…the list goes on.  We can spend days, weeks, or years being someone to others and not to ourselves.  It is the making of an unfulfilled life to be someone to people who would do not love you.

You Say Tomato, I Say Tomahto

“Passion is a positive obsession. Obsession is a negative passion.” –Paul Carvel

I know several people who have read my blog.  I have gotten one of two reactions:  “I’ve learned something about you I didn’t know before” and “I have read over and over your stories.  I feel you were saying mean things about someone I know.”  A person’s response is a great litmus test to how they take the emotion elicited by my blog and transform it through their thoughts. 

The fixation generated about reading a few stories that I equate to life lessons and my desire to share them.  Other than one person, I don’t use actual names to identify anyone.  Some of my life events occurred anytime between twenty years ago and up to recent times.  People who weren’t there wouldn’t have a clue about who was there with me through my life lessons.  I have heard people tell me, “So-and-so said they couldn’t believe you wrote about them in your blog for the world to see.  There is a good reason for what they did.  You just misunderstood their actions/their words.”  My thoughts are this.  Why isn’t so-and-so asking me out right about my blog?  Why is so-and-so talking to others about what they assume to be my truth?  Why is so-and so spending so much energy telling others my life lessons misrepresent what really happened or what was really said; “The lady doth protest too much, methinks”.

The enthusiasm generated about getting to know a bit about me through stories I normally would not disclose over coffee.  This is the other side of the same coin.  The same emotion my blog creates as it runs through another’s psyche, another’s filters.  My blog is a catalyst for discussions about how I got to be this person at this point in time.  And it shows people they are not alone in stepping on landmines as they navigate this life.  My blog also shows people they can recover with their sanity intact from the damage inflicted by such landmines.

Why I consider the reaction to this blog as a litmus test is simple.  If you fixate on a few stories that you believe are an injustice for me to put out there, I think there will not be any common ground for us to meet.  Well, other than your sense of self importance.  If you read, reread and reread again my blogs, then accuse me of being unfair to others without having been a firsthand participant, then I know you have come to plead for another’s case.  Which I begin wonder if you have already approached me with bias and another’s agenda at hand.   If you read my blog with the desire to help me celebrate how far I have come in this life after almost being aborted, well then you get it.  You understand the story is not about the people, me or others, but about the celebration of realizing we are infallible beings. 

I have a right to express myself.  I have a right to share what has happened to me.  I choose to use this forum to send out to the void what I see as my truth.  If you don’t agree, fine.  If you agree, fine too.  You have a choice to keep coming back to read this blog.  Or not.  Simple.

What Is Violence?

“Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.”  --Isaac Asimov

Most of us think of a fist to the face as violence.  That’s not where my mind goes.  I think of nonconsensual interactions between beings.  I think of ‘bait-and-switch’ tactics and hidden agendas to lure others into relationships.  I think of malicious, seemingly never ending mind fucks.  I think of all the things people do to others to justify their unawareness, to validate their petty selfishness or to satisfy a mean spirited nature.

We know women who trusted a ‘Dom’ who tricked them into being bound and then commits assault.  We know someone who entered into an M/s relationship and then found their wallet emptied and credit trashed by the ‘slave’ who was full of excuses why they could not get or keep a job.  We have experienced the person who agreed to join us in a poly lifestyle and then built outside intimate relationships without our knowledge.  (Notice I do not use the word ‘consent’.  Many poly people do not require consent, or veto rights, only knowledge.)  We know couples who enter this lifestyle and each person has different motivations: one wants to please the other and one wants legitimacy to have extramarital sex.

The crazy thing about my life is that most people out there would call me the deviant who likes violence.  However I challenge their assumptions.  I believe the deviant people are those who are responsible for committing true violence by assuring us their motives are pure, full of love for us, while they create harm and deception in order to hide their real agenda.

Lyle & Britten Wrote a Great One

“Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired.” –Robert Frost

I’ve read my share of love poems.  When I am asked to voice my insight I tend to start with the poet.  I find the choice of words and the way they are fixed together very telling.  One can surmise if the poet reminisces for what has been or prays for what could be.  Sometimes it is both that are within the person’s fantasies; desires folded in layers and seeped in emotional longing.  A poem comes from the inner recesses of imagination, fantasy or ambition.  I believe it is the exceptional poet who knows from which emotional precipice they draw their idea of love from.  Far too many will not find the source and simply lay down a mash of words.

What I've Figured Out So Far

“Never say never, for if you live long enough, chances are you will not be able to abide by its restrictions. Never is a long, undependable time, and life is too full of rich possibilities to have restrictions placed upon it.” –Gloria Swanson

Self-evaluation is as complete as it’s going to get in this moment.  The self-imposed unspecified time period has reached it’s limit.  And here’s what I’ve figured out. 

I developed some survival tools that are unhealthy, and at times personally destructive, to adapt to living in an environment rife with parental alienation.  As much as I’d like to think that ‘off and on’ therapy has helped me distance myself from these learned patterns, I am still sliding down into my childhood ‘comfort zones’ more often than I want to admit.

I am grateful to my friends who listen and gently remind me to take ownership of ‘me’.  And to realize the greatest gift I can give myself is the commitment to extend loving compassion to ‘me’.  This in turn allows appreciation of all the life lessons presented to me within the lifestyle.  A positive side note: I have a new energy bubbling up during zazen.

My current musing?  I see no reason to return to therapy.  Staying present with my actions and staying real with my ‘family’ of friends in order to glean their wisdom has allowed me to understand my part within my life.  Therapy? We don’t need no stinking therapy!

More Life Lessons Learned at a Snail's Pace

“You will either step forward into growth or you will slip back into safety.” –Abraham Maslow

This is what happens when you put your thoughts out there for people to read: you get feedback.  Others have spoken to me about their own experiences, observations and perspectives.  Here is a synopsis of what people have shared with me.

*What I experienced isn’t rare; unfortunately, it is more common that the community would like to admit.  *I know so many transgendered ladies who take hormones; therefore, I am unaccustomed to the vestiges of overt masculine behavior that arises from those who do not.  *Assholes are assholes regardless of gender identification, label, title, orientation or status.  *Single women at events unfortunately deal with bullshit from too many guys believing they’ve shelled out several hundreds of dollars to be at this event (ticket, hotel, play items, etc.)  and are entitled to receiving some sort o’ nasty.  Nutshell: “Dammit! I’m gonna get mine cuz I came here to have wild and kinky sex.”

My thoughts on their thoughts will have to wait for later blogs.  However, what I’ve come away with is that I have been going to events with an unreasonable mindset.  Once I pass through registration, I let down my vanillaland guard and mill about with ‘safe, sane, and consensual’ as my security blanket.  I believe I can go to events to be myself without censorship.  What my friends have helped me realize is my belief does not match up well with reality. 

My first thought when I was in the grips of the first bear hug was to wait for the pressure to let up and then punch her in the balls and, if needed, to do a front snap kick to create a bit of distance.  However, for the several seconds that elapsed before she released her grip, my mind started to censor my desired reaction.  We were in a smallish, crowded vendor space.  My luck she would have knocked over someone, they would have broken a hip or something and I’m facing a civil action for negligence.  Or my actions could have had me thrown out of the event (and perhaps barred) for throwing the first punch.  Self-censorship.

The second bear hug I received a few hours later from different gal was not so forceful.  It was less about showing off ‘male bravado’ and was more about placing an exclamation point to her statement that I might not be a real Domme.  My mind said, “Fuck you, bitch.”  My words said, “I am a Domme and I don’t submit.”  Self-censorship.

The third time it was when I leaned in to kiss and hug someone good night for the evening.  When we finished hugging, she grabbed my arms and kept kissing me.  I’m sure to onlookers  she looked like the drinking bird toy and I was the glass of water.  After a few pecks I said, “This is too much.”  She stopped for a second and gave me a few more, released my arms and made a few statements about her being so  happy to spend some time with me.  My mind said, “What the fuck!  Not again!”  My words said, “Good night.”   Self-censorship.

So, where there any positive notes from the event?  I’m going to BL5 in April.  (Thank you, Top)  A wonderful guy spent the wee hours of the morning on the last day as my practice toy for different rope ties and getting to know me.  (Thank you, Walt)  I was able to briefly lean on, and collect some righteous energy, from a wonderful little.  (Thank you, Sara)  I received words of wisdom from two incredible women.  (Thank you, Dee & Di)  The generous holiday gift I received from a dear friend.  (Thank you, Peter)  A few unfortunate events that required me to reevaluate my belief about events being a safe haven.  (Thank you for the lessons presented me.)

Figuring It Out

“Good instincts usually tell you what to do long before your head has figured it out.” –Michael Burke

This is a follow up from yesterday.  And a clarification.

I am not turning into a man-hating or a cross-dress-basher.  What I have shared is about three incidents that occurred within 6 hours of each other at a fetish event.  I let three people know I was interested in them by letting them know I thought they were sexy and gorgeous.  Each person had their own way of conveying how much they wanted to please me.  Which is totally cool and appreciated.  What was not cool and not appreciated was the aggressive manner and brutish conduct I received once I let them know I was interested in becoming intimate.  Which truly shocked me.  I was attracted to these kind, polite, intelligent, funny T-girls.  However once I suggested a change to the relationship, I was dealing with horney, rammy guys wearing dresses.

I know many transgendered gals out there who are the belles of the ball.  And my relationships with them is strictly a ‘no sex’ relationships.  And my intention for writing these latest blogs is not to alienate them.  My reason is to let anyone reading this that I am taking a break from pursuing intimate relationships with T-gals until I can figure out what is fucked up with my filters.

I mean, what is up?  Am I too unreserved at events?  Am I dealing with a series of unfortunate situations so uncommon that I shouldn’t give such reactions any thought?  When I figure it out I’ll let you know.

Wearing A Dress Doesn't Make You A Lady

“Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power.” –Abraham Lincoln

I started attending events back in July of last year.  Since then I have been to four.  And I have four more lined up over the next six months.  I attend as a single Domme.  The upside is I don’t have to worry about dramarama.  The downside is I still deal with the same stereotypical bullshit I deal with in vanillaland.

At the last event I attended, I had three people bear hug me and not let go when I pulled away.  One did it while telling me how strong and endowed she is.  One said she wants to put me into sub space.  The third person just couldn’t believe he found an attractive woman who likes CDs.  Whatever their real reasons I do not want to comprehend or understand.  They committed what I consider serious faux pas.

Serious enough that I am deleting my crossdressing.com profile.  And serious enough for me to backpedal from considering genetic men as future sexual partners.  That’s right kiddies!  This chica is being swayed by male bad behavior to keep the ethical slut fun tidbits for the female gender.  I’m still bisexual or pansexual or what every label you wanna place upon me.  However, for an unspecified time period I see myself consistently choosing the gals over guys.  I like to leave my options open for the rare respectful male who won’t pull out of their life toolbox such desperate, forceful coping skills.

The Toughest Life Lesson

“Life is tough, but it's tougher when you're stupid.” –John Wayne  

I've not blogged for a few months.  As with life, it is not one reason but several.  I took a couple of evening classes at the community college to spruce up my resume.  I was annoyed by texts from people who read my blog and thought is was directed at them.  Responsibilities at home, at work and traveling to fetish events all added to me not blogging.  

Sometimes a thought would creep to the forefront of my mind: "Blog. Blog. Blog."  But ya know...just wasn't feeling it.  In the past I would have thrown up a smattering of postings, and again, not for one reason but several.  Knowing others check my blog daily, I do feel a responsibility to create. I have jotted in my notepad many paragraphs of thoughts for blogging, so why not take some time to move them from paper to the web?  I don't like how I feel when I start something and then stop due to outside pressures.  I don't like when I cannot be doing what I want because I have a commitment to obligations outside of "me". 

I didn't want to complete a blog because I know those who check it out or follow me would appreciate a few more tidbits of stuff I don't share normally over a cup of tea.  One of the toughest life lessons for me to 'get it' is doing life at my speed and in my time.  One of the toughest life lessons for me is that I need to balance my life direction with the life directions of my family.  I mean, like, what's more difficult than staying true to a life path while not being seduced by one’s ego?