You know you can comment, I don't bite.
Well, I don't bite strangers.
Have we met?
Perhaps you should introduce yourself.
I'm so hungry.
Indulge me, I don't know how to be subtle. To be honest it is more that I do not believe that subtle would ever serve me better than being direct. It is just not a skill I feel called to master.
It's a thing I have said for decades. One of two actually, that I don't do subtle and I don't do tragic. Of course I have known tragedy, I am a woman in my 50s. What I mean to imply is I will not indulge tragic. You won't find me on my deathbed crying about the love I lost.
Or the opportunity I missed.
Or the trip I didn't take.
Or the risk I passed on.
Someone, a client, gave me the strangest compliment recently. It was a video call, a one-off stranger. Only a stranger could have said this to me. He had commented on various parts of me, said that my eyes are hypnotizing, my hair looked so soft, my feet are perfect, then a couple more of a more provocative nature. Nothing weird there, forgive my conceit, I have heard those observations many, many times. The strange thing that he said was, "Your parents must have been so in love when they made you, you're just so beautiful in every way."
Correct me if I am wrong, remember I don't vanilla either, causing someone to think of their parents' love and the circumstance of their own conception is an unusual way to flame the spark, isn't it? Odd by any standard I think, but doubly so if you knew me. Because if you know me then you know my parents were divorced. It's typically among the first things I share about myself, that my parents divorced before my second birthday. I have never seen them kiss, hold hands, or smile at one another.
First time I had any inkling that my mother liked my father was when she cried for him in her confusion in the days before she passed. Although, to be honest, I did always suspect my father loved my mother. Her high school picture among his modest possessions when he passed in 2016 confirmed my suspicions.
What a terrible tragic stupid waste.
It did take me out of the moment of my call for a moment, but I am a professional. I am certain my client was satisfied with our time together. And here I am, weeks later still replaying.
My parents in love. Not just in casually in love, but so in love, passionately in love, deeply in love so as to create someone like me. I really do understand how vain I must sound. Do you have any idea how much confidence one must possess to tell a stranger my intro sessions are 2hrs, and my tribute is _____? Well, it's going up again on the first, no need to be tacky and state it here. My confidence is a crucial element to the work I do, and my clients affirm, constantly, the value of my work.
Could they have really been in love?
Count back forty weeks from November 24th. If you were born during the Thanksgiving break, you were conceived the weekend of Valentine's day. In February of 1972 my dad was stationed in Virginia. My mom would drive down from Massachusetts if she had the weekend off to see him. I've made that trip myself so many times. Fourteen hours from Holbrook to Virginia Beach, how in love would you need to be to make that trip, alone, in the beater you drove when you were 20, in February?
I have fallen so in love with this idea.
