Monika Basile's Blog: Confessions of a Bleeding Heart - Posts Tagged "life"
Because you are Still Here
I keep seeing her stare at me from the picture on my china cabinet. Her smile is vivid in the picture as much as it was in real life. And I wish, how I wish, that she were sitting next to me at my dining room table and laughing with me as we had so many times over the years. She was my best friend, and she died almost three years ago. The missing part hasn’t lessened in the least.
Recently was the anniversary of the last time we went out together. So I am blue, and sad, and laughing through tears as I remember that crazy night. And I want to tell every woman something they should already know; don’t think you have forever because you don’t. Don’t take one moment for granted because you don’t know when it all will end.
Patty and I raised children together, went through divorces together and also learned to date all over in a different era we were both unfamiliar with. We liked to say we were “relationship delayed” as if somehow, twenty years of each of us not dating, we were stuck in teenage girl years as the rules we dated by. We did the typical things all women do, we over analyzed every word a man said. Every action was scrutinized by the “what did he mean by that?” We chatted all hours of the night over the little things that make up a life and the things that make up a relationship. And we grew up together in our last few years we were together as we suffered tragedies and blessings.
Patty was my one and only night out on New Year’s Eve as an adult. On the way to the party, she spoke of her late love of her life that had passed away two months before. She spoke of her last New Year’s Eve with him, “We danced to Al Green, Let’s Stay Together, and we knew it would most likely be our last, but we knew too, that we loved each other more than anything in the world and it would be okay, and that it was worth it. Even losing him, to have had that in my life, it was worth it.”
I am glad that I really listened to Patty all those years. I am glad I really heard the things she said about life and love and relationships. I am glad I was never too busy and neither was she. I am glad there is no regret in my heart that I was not there enough or that I missed any moments. I was there, and I savored each moment. I appreciated her. I felt lucky to know her. We made a difference in each other’s lives.
All of the stories she told me, all of her hurts and joys, I now tell her daughters and my own daughters. I feel blessed to be able to pass it on—to be able to help her daughters know her even better than they already did. I don’t need to help them feel lucky—they already do. But I do try to give the advice their mother gave me.
She went out into the world first on her own and helped guide me through my own private journey. She let me make my own mistakes and never said, “I told you so.” But instead, “It’ll be okay.” She was my voice in the dark, the one I could call day or night. I was hers too. And now I am a voice in the dark in hers and my girls’ lives. I hope I can live up to her legacy and be the comfort she was to me.
I celebrated Patty’s oldest daughters twenty first birthday a few days ago. Patty should have been there with us physically, I kept thinking. I shared with her, her first legal drink. We toasted her mother. We laughed a bit and cried a bit. We missed the other girls not being there with us. But I realized too, that she is always with us. She hasn’t left us after all this time. Her laughter lingers in each of us, her words still are as important today as they were years ago. The place where she used to be isn’t empty of her; it is filled with the love she left behind as she stepped into the next part of her journey. And I do believe, “It will be okay.” as she always told me.
Monika M. Basile
Recently was the anniversary of the last time we went out together. So I am blue, and sad, and laughing through tears as I remember that crazy night. And I want to tell every woman something they should already know; don’t think you have forever because you don’t. Don’t take one moment for granted because you don’t know when it all will end.
Patty and I raised children together, went through divorces together and also learned to date all over in a different era we were both unfamiliar with. We liked to say we were “relationship delayed” as if somehow, twenty years of each of us not dating, we were stuck in teenage girl years as the rules we dated by. We did the typical things all women do, we over analyzed every word a man said. Every action was scrutinized by the “what did he mean by that?” We chatted all hours of the night over the little things that make up a life and the things that make up a relationship. And we grew up together in our last few years we were together as we suffered tragedies and blessings.
Patty was my one and only night out on New Year’s Eve as an adult. On the way to the party, she spoke of her late love of her life that had passed away two months before. She spoke of her last New Year’s Eve with him, “We danced to Al Green, Let’s Stay Together, and we knew it would most likely be our last, but we knew too, that we loved each other more than anything in the world and it would be okay, and that it was worth it. Even losing him, to have had that in my life, it was worth it.”
I am glad that I really listened to Patty all those years. I am glad I really heard the things she said about life and love and relationships. I am glad I was never too busy and neither was she. I am glad there is no regret in my heart that I was not there enough or that I missed any moments. I was there, and I savored each moment. I appreciated her. I felt lucky to know her. We made a difference in each other’s lives.
All of the stories she told me, all of her hurts and joys, I now tell her daughters and my own daughters. I feel blessed to be able to pass it on—to be able to help her daughters know her even better than they already did. I don’t need to help them feel lucky—they already do. But I do try to give the advice their mother gave me.
She went out into the world first on her own and helped guide me through my own private journey. She let me make my own mistakes and never said, “I told you so.” But instead, “It’ll be okay.” She was my voice in the dark, the one I could call day or night. I was hers too. And now I am a voice in the dark in hers and my girls’ lives. I hope I can live up to her legacy and be the comfort she was to me.
I celebrated Patty’s oldest daughters twenty first birthday a few days ago. Patty should have been there with us physically, I kept thinking. I shared with her, her first legal drink. We toasted her mother. We laughed a bit and cried a bit. We missed the other girls not being there with us. But I realized too, that she is always with us. She hasn’t left us after all this time. Her laughter lingers in each of us, her words still are as important today as they were years ago. The place where she used to be isn’t empty of her; it is filled with the love she left behind as she stepped into the next part of her journey. And I do believe, “It will be okay.” as she always told me.
Monika M. Basile
Pulling Through
Will I make it?
This is a question I recently heard a young woman ask of herself. I have asked myself that same question as I am sure many women do.
I wonder why we as women have such a shaky faith in ourselves to get through the hardest times of our lives. Why is it that in the midst of chaos or heartache, there is a voice that whispers, “Will I make it?” and then we wait—to see if an answer comes out of the darkest moments? If we are still here, then obviously the answer has come.
I am not sure if men have that same voice or not. I have never been a man so I can not presume to know what they think. It just appears that men have much more faith in themselves. I hear them say, “I’ll figure it out.” and “I’ll find the answer.” I rarely hear them say, “I don’t know if I’ll survive this.” Is it a conditioning in their lives or is there something, inherent inside of men, to be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel even if it’s just a tiny pin prick and barely visible?
When each of my daughters was born, I held them in my arms and I wept. Yes, out of joy but also out of sadness. I thought about every woman in those first moments. I thought of each heartache that a woman experiences. I thought that someday these girl children of mine would know exactly what it really was to hurt and hurt deeply. I wished with everything inside me to prevent it. That isn’t possible, I know. Will they make it? I’m not sure, but I sure as hell will be pulling these young women through all of it as I do with all of the women in my life. Just as so many women have done in my life.
Men wonder why we women rally round when one of us is in need. They wonder how a battle two years long of not speaking to each other is forgotten in seconds when we hear, “I don’t know if I’ll get through this…” They wonder why a middle of the night phone call doesn’t bother us if we can be of help. They wonder how we can cry so easily with the dear women in our world. It’s because each of us are hearing the echo of our own little voice of doubt. We live with this fear of if one of us does not make it, then we might not either. And we know too, that any little thing we can do to make it better will make some part of it better.
The women in our lives insist we keep going even when we want most of all to give up. They pull us through and out and up and away from what we cannot handle alone and from what we feel we will not survive. And the men in our lives stand beside us, behind us, in front of us—believing whole heartedly that we will get through it.
Will you make it? I insist, along with every woman in your life around you.
Monika M. Basile
This is a question I recently heard a young woman ask of herself. I have asked myself that same question as I am sure many women do.
I wonder why we as women have such a shaky faith in ourselves to get through the hardest times of our lives. Why is it that in the midst of chaos or heartache, there is a voice that whispers, “Will I make it?” and then we wait—to see if an answer comes out of the darkest moments? If we are still here, then obviously the answer has come.
I am not sure if men have that same voice or not. I have never been a man so I can not presume to know what they think. It just appears that men have much more faith in themselves. I hear them say, “I’ll figure it out.” and “I’ll find the answer.” I rarely hear them say, “I don’t know if I’ll survive this.” Is it a conditioning in their lives or is there something, inherent inside of men, to be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel even if it’s just a tiny pin prick and barely visible?
When each of my daughters was born, I held them in my arms and I wept. Yes, out of joy but also out of sadness. I thought about every woman in those first moments. I thought of each heartache that a woman experiences. I thought that someday these girl children of mine would know exactly what it really was to hurt and hurt deeply. I wished with everything inside me to prevent it. That isn’t possible, I know. Will they make it? I’m not sure, but I sure as hell will be pulling these young women through all of it as I do with all of the women in my life. Just as so many women have done in my life.
Men wonder why we women rally round when one of us is in need. They wonder how a battle two years long of not speaking to each other is forgotten in seconds when we hear, “I don’t know if I’ll get through this…” They wonder why a middle of the night phone call doesn’t bother us if we can be of help. They wonder how we can cry so easily with the dear women in our world. It’s because each of us are hearing the echo of our own little voice of doubt. We live with this fear of if one of us does not make it, then we might not either. And we know too, that any little thing we can do to make it better will make some part of it better.
The women in our lives insist we keep going even when we want most of all to give up. They pull us through and out and up and away from what we cannot handle alone and from what we feel we will not survive. And the men in our lives stand beside us, behind us, in front of us—believing whole heartedly that we will get through it.
Will you make it? I insist, along with every woman in your life around you.
Monika M. Basile
The Real Men
The things I admire about men are not what they would ever imagine.
I love a man who can plunge a toilet and actually know what the hell he is doing. I love a man who sits down at new electronic equipment and is determined enough to figure out how to hook it up and get it working. I admire the man who knows that when a car is running funny to check the oil, the fluids and then every thing-a-ma-bob until they get it working again. I am astounded when I watch a man build something and measure and saw and hammer and a few bits of wood, wire, nuts and screws becomes something wondrous like a tree house or a swing set or a beautiful cabinet.
I find it amazing when a man can go to work in a suit and tie and never look uncomfortable or out of place. I like that even if they are clueless on a particular project at a job, they never let anyone see them sweat and still seem professional. I am astounded when he can take a reaming from his boss or superiors and not feel the need to burst into tears. I admire the men who take the time to gain the knowledge to make them successful in whatever they do.
There is…
The man who kisses his kids good night and the one who makes time for his old mother to cut the grass and then sit and chat a minute. The man who plows his neighbor's snow just because he was up first. The man who helps a buddy move even though he is too tired to do so. The man who coaches a little league team and makes a difference by showing good sportsmanship. The man who can say he is sorry when he wrongs someone. The man who pays his child support on time and even gives extra because he knows his kid needs more. The man, who instead of walking away, stands there looking completely out of his element while a woman in his life cries—but he doesn’t walk away, he stays. The man who is courageous when he is terrified.
These are the good men living side by side with us each day. We are not enemies. We are not from other planets. We are merely different.
We women spend too much time man-bashing. We spend too much time lamenting that there are “no good men out there”. There are. There truly are good men in abundance. We women need to realize that instead of being discouraged.
For the ladies who have such men in their lives, you are not holding a one in a million man—but one of a million and more. Appreciate him. Quit crabbing because he leaves his dirty underwear hanging on the bathroom doorknob, that he wants a night out with his friends now and then, that he’s not perfect. Just appreciate it.
And for those of us ladies who haven’t found him yet—believe you will. Believe he actually exists because he does. The good men of the world are alive and well and they are looking for you too.
It isn’t a man’s power or prestige. It isn’t what car he drives or that he has the face of a God. It isn’t his multiple PHD’s or the vacation home in the islands that is attractive to me. None of those things are really that important. It’s who he is.
Oh, and did I mention they smell awfully good too?
Monika M. Basile
I love a man who can plunge a toilet and actually know what the hell he is doing. I love a man who sits down at new electronic equipment and is determined enough to figure out how to hook it up and get it working. I admire the man who knows that when a car is running funny to check the oil, the fluids and then every thing-a-ma-bob until they get it working again. I am astounded when I watch a man build something and measure and saw and hammer and a few bits of wood, wire, nuts and screws becomes something wondrous like a tree house or a swing set or a beautiful cabinet.
I find it amazing when a man can go to work in a suit and tie and never look uncomfortable or out of place. I like that even if they are clueless on a particular project at a job, they never let anyone see them sweat and still seem professional. I am astounded when he can take a reaming from his boss or superiors and not feel the need to burst into tears. I admire the men who take the time to gain the knowledge to make them successful in whatever they do.
There is…
The man who kisses his kids good night and the one who makes time for his old mother to cut the grass and then sit and chat a minute. The man who plows his neighbor's snow just because he was up first. The man who helps a buddy move even though he is too tired to do so. The man who coaches a little league team and makes a difference by showing good sportsmanship. The man who can say he is sorry when he wrongs someone. The man who pays his child support on time and even gives extra because he knows his kid needs more. The man, who instead of walking away, stands there looking completely out of his element while a woman in his life cries—but he doesn’t walk away, he stays. The man who is courageous when he is terrified.
These are the good men living side by side with us each day. We are not enemies. We are not from other planets. We are merely different.
We women spend too much time man-bashing. We spend too much time lamenting that there are “no good men out there”. There are. There truly are good men in abundance. We women need to realize that instead of being discouraged.
For the ladies who have such men in their lives, you are not holding a one in a million man—but one of a million and more. Appreciate him. Quit crabbing because he leaves his dirty underwear hanging on the bathroom doorknob, that he wants a night out with his friends now and then, that he’s not perfect. Just appreciate it.
And for those of us ladies who haven’t found him yet—believe you will. Believe he actually exists because he does. The good men of the world are alive and well and they are looking for you too.
It isn’t a man’s power or prestige. It isn’t what car he drives or that he has the face of a God. It isn’t his multiple PHD’s or the vacation home in the islands that is attractive to me. None of those things are really that important. It’s who he is.
Oh, and did I mention they smell awfully good too?
Monika M. Basile
It Matters
I can control no one. I can only control me and sometimes I am even incapable of that as we all can be.
I tend to live my life asking a very important question—well, important to me. I am not sure if it is important to anyone but me as I cannot control if it is or not. It only has to do with me so it doesn’t matter anyway. The question?
Can I live with this?
It is an all encompassing question and it refers to my reaction or lack of action in everything I do. Can I live with it—my choice? What I put out there in the world, what I say to someone, how I respond to every good thing and bad thing that I encounter. Can I live with it?
See, I have the perfect question—I just don’t have the perfect answer. I am not always ultimately sure what I can or can’t live with. If every decision I had to make was only based on how I felt, what I wanted, what I needed and where I wanted to go, it would be easy. But most of us do not live a singular existence. We are connected. Every single thing we do or say affects someone else. Can I live with it?
I think I worry about this question a lot. Can I live with choosing for me when it affects every person I come in contact with? Sometimes I can’t. Sometimes I can. And sometimes I just hold my breath hoping the decisions I make do not destroy anyone or anything else in the process.
I think we spend too much time thinking we do not count or what we do, or say, think or feel—doesn’t matter in the world. It does. We are constantly interconnected even when we think we are alone in the world. We are never truly alone…ever. We matter. All of us matter.
It is the ripple effect of throwing stones into the water. Our lives, our reactions, our actions, our words and deeds are our “stones” thrown out into the universe. We may never see the actual splash they make. We may never see every ripple that springs up into the world, but they are there. And it keeps moving and expanding and growing in one way or another.
It’s a frightening thought when I examine it too closely. Yet, it is also what keeps me honest when I don’t want to be. It is the reason I have learned the fine art of biting my tongue when so many times I would much rather spew out atrocities. Before I utter something mean and hateful, I ask myself, “Can I live with this?” knowing whatever I say may set off a horrendous chain reaction. It has taught me to temper vile words. It has also caused me to be able to speak out when I feel there is no choice. I ask myself the same question when I consider doing nothing, “Can I live with this?” and I attempt to see how my lack of words may affect what happens next.
I may not always make the best decisions. None of us are perfect. We can only do what we can live with.
Monika M. Basile
I tend to live my life asking a very important question—well, important to me. I am not sure if it is important to anyone but me as I cannot control if it is or not. It only has to do with me so it doesn’t matter anyway. The question?
Can I live with this?
It is an all encompassing question and it refers to my reaction or lack of action in everything I do. Can I live with it—my choice? What I put out there in the world, what I say to someone, how I respond to every good thing and bad thing that I encounter. Can I live with it?
See, I have the perfect question—I just don’t have the perfect answer. I am not always ultimately sure what I can or can’t live with. If every decision I had to make was only based on how I felt, what I wanted, what I needed and where I wanted to go, it would be easy. But most of us do not live a singular existence. We are connected. Every single thing we do or say affects someone else. Can I live with it?
I think I worry about this question a lot. Can I live with choosing for me when it affects every person I come in contact with? Sometimes I can’t. Sometimes I can. And sometimes I just hold my breath hoping the decisions I make do not destroy anyone or anything else in the process.
I think we spend too much time thinking we do not count or what we do, or say, think or feel—doesn’t matter in the world. It does. We are constantly interconnected even when we think we are alone in the world. We are never truly alone…ever. We matter. All of us matter.
It is the ripple effect of throwing stones into the water. Our lives, our reactions, our actions, our words and deeds are our “stones” thrown out into the universe. We may never see the actual splash they make. We may never see every ripple that springs up into the world, but they are there. And it keeps moving and expanding and growing in one way or another.
It’s a frightening thought when I examine it too closely. Yet, it is also what keeps me honest when I don’t want to be. It is the reason I have learned the fine art of biting my tongue when so many times I would much rather spew out atrocities. Before I utter something mean and hateful, I ask myself, “Can I live with this?” knowing whatever I say may set off a horrendous chain reaction. It has taught me to temper vile words. It has also caused me to be able to speak out when I feel there is no choice. I ask myself the same question when I consider doing nothing, “Can I live with this?” and I attempt to see how my lack of words may affect what happens next.
I may not always make the best decisions. None of us are perfect. We can only do what we can live with.
Monika M. Basile
My Real Life
In my real life (You see this is not it. This is not the life at all I imagined for myself.)I am having a lovely time. In my real life I sit on a sunset beach gazing upon gentle crystal blue waves. I am sipping on a glass of sweet red wine and the wind is blowing softly in my face and carrying the scent of hibiscus and jasmine with it. In my real life—it is peaceful and quiet and the noise around me is not drowning out my thoughts.
In my real life I do not worry about how the bills will get paid or how to fix all the broken things piling up around me. In my real life, I am writing my tenth best seller and I am scheduling the next book tour with the hope it does not coincide with my vacationing in Tuscany. In my real life there is a limo waiting (not the granny panty car with constant loud noise coming from somewhere) outside my luxurious home as I am rushing to prepare myself for the party I have been looking forward to. In my real life I wear diamond earrings the size of robin’s eggs dangling from my ears to every occasion.
In my real life I don’t worry about how many groceries are in the house because I eat out at five star restaurants or the cook will cook for me at home. In my real life the maid does very well keeping up and there are clean sheets on my bed each and every night. In my real life there is a balcony off of my bedroom with wide French doors and I sit in a wicker rocker and am surrounded with white twinkle lights and stars in velvet skies. In my real life I never sleep single in a double bed with my freshly washed sheets at night. In my real life I am loved and cherished.
In my real life each child is respectful and polite to me. They call me, “Mother Dear” instead of “Hey Ma”. They never leave a mess in the bathroom or get in trouble. We sing together around the baby grand piano and we call each other sweet nicknames like “Biff” and “Skip” and “Kitten” instead of “Idiot” and “Stupid” and “I Hate You”.
In my real life I never have pity parties like the one I am having here. There is no need. In my real life everything is ideal and wonderful and perfect.
That’s how I live in my real life you see—not in this one.
This version, the one I never imagined, is much harder to live in than my real life. I suppose it is a way of building character to have to stick it out in the tougher life and still be able to find the joy in it. Maybe that was the thought God had when he decided to give me this life instead of the real one. I guess its okay.
If I can’t have the life I imagined, my actual real life—I am happy to take this one and make it my own.
Monika M. Basile
In my real life I do not worry about how the bills will get paid or how to fix all the broken things piling up around me. In my real life, I am writing my tenth best seller and I am scheduling the next book tour with the hope it does not coincide with my vacationing in Tuscany. In my real life there is a limo waiting (not the granny panty car with constant loud noise coming from somewhere) outside my luxurious home as I am rushing to prepare myself for the party I have been looking forward to. In my real life I wear diamond earrings the size of robin’s eggs dangling from my ears to every occasion.
In my real life I don’t worry about how many groceries are in the house because I eat out at five star restaurants or the cook will cook for me at home. In my real life the maid does very well keeping up and there are clean sheets on my bed each and every night. In my real life there is a balcony off of my bedroom with wide French doors and I sit in a wicker rocker and am surrounded with white twinkle lights and stars in velvet skies. In my real life I never sleep single in a double bed with my freshly washed sheets at night. In my real life I am loved and cherished.
In my real life each child is respectful and polite to me. They call me, “Mother Dear” instead of “Hey Ma”. They never leave a mess in the bathroom or get in trouble. We sing together around the baby grand piano and we call each other sweet nicknames like “Biff” and “Skip” and “Kitten” instead of “Idiot” and “Stupid” and “I Hate You”.
In my real life I never have pity parties like the one I am having here. There is no need. In my real life everything is ideal and wonderful and perfect.
That’s how I live in my real life you see—not in this one.
This version, the one I never imagined, is much harder to live in than my real life. I suppose it is a way of building character to have to stick it out in the tougher life and still be able to find the joy in it. Maybe that was the thought God had when he decided to give me this life instead of the real one. I guess its okay.
If I can’t have the life I imagined, my actual real life—I am happy to take this one and make it my own.
Monika M. Basile
Ordinary Miracles
Einstein said that we could live two ways. One way is as if nothing is a miracle. The other as if everything is a miracle. I live that quote by the latter part.
In the darkest parts of night, I think too much. My mind goes a hundred miles a minute and I can get dizzy laying in my bed without ever having the luxury of a good stiff drink. I am a worrier by nature, by heredity and by being blessed/cursed with an overactive imagination and yet, I am a believer in miracles in whatever form they take. I am merely impatient for them to arrive.
I am also learning to be a bit more specific in what I pray for too. I am sure God knows what I actually mean yet I think he tries to teach me a lesson or two along the way.
Last year I prayed for my stinking old faded— red to hot pink van that sounded like a spaceship taking off to just last until August. “Please, God.” I begged. “Just let this damn van last until August when I get my bonus so I can find another car.” It did. It died on August 11. However, I needed to be more specific as my bonus arrived almost two weeks later. But to me—that van creeping on and on for months on end lasted me and this was a miracle in my life. That van itself was the vehicle in several miracles. I happened to get a flat tire literally in front of the tire place where I had bought tires a few years before. My warranty had expired but someone else with the last name Basile still had a warranty and the service man took pity on me and gave me a tire. I had driven on the tire all morning. It could have blown out anywhere, but instead it blew out right in the spot I needed it to.
Though some may see it more as a tragedy to suffer out driving a van in a heat wave with no air conditioning and windows that did not roll down—I was still able to get to work each day. Of course I prayed each time I got in the stupid thing, but God made it last until August like I asked. And though this is a small thing, a small miracle, it helped me continue on in life.
We do not need a big ka-bang to have had a miracle in our lives. There does not have to be a burning bush, a fire breathing dragon slain, a neon lettered sign hanging in the sky with fireworks spelling out, “Hey you! Miracle coming—watch for it now!” We simply have to notice that what happened—shouldn’t have but it did anyway. We only have to see that we are somehow changed by what happens.
Sometimes people are put into our lives simply to be a miracle. It’s funny really, a dear friend of mine who is not a believer in miracles helped create one. He helped me to save someone whom I love very much and never realized he was the miracle. And it doesn’t matter what he believes—he is a miracle to me along with all of the other miraculous people who helped. There have been so many people in my life who have simply stepped in at the least expected time and changed my world. It isn’t luck(because mine isn’t very good). It isn’t even chance. It is what it is. You do not have to believe in miracles for them to happen. They happen anyway.
Does it mean my life is free of heartache? Does it mean that I live the life of Riley? Does it mean that things are easy and wonderful and perfect because I believe in miracles? Does it mean I never fear or question or wonder how I will get through what I have to get through?
Absolutely not.
It means that no matter how much I worry and no matter how much real or imagined tragedy may haunt me—I have hope that a miracle may just be waiting to appear as soon as I turn my head. I just have to stop a moment and notice.
Monika M. Basile
In the darkest parts of night, I think too much. My mind goes a hundred miles a minute and I can get dizzy laying in my bed without ever having the luxury of a good stiff drink. I am a worrier by nature, by heredity and by being blessed/cursed with an overactive imagination and yet, I am a believer in miracles in whatever form they take. I am merely impatient for them to arrive.
I am also learning to be a bit more specific in what I pray for too. I am sure God knows what I actually mean yet I think he tries to teach me a lesson or two along the way.
Last year I prayed for my stinking old faded— red to hot pink van that sounded like a spaceship taking off to just last until August. “Please, God.” I begged. “Just let this damn van last until August when I get my bonus so I can find another car.” It did. It died on August 11. However, I needed to be more specific as my bonus arrived almost two weeks later. But to me—that van creeping on and on for months on end lasted me and this was a miracle in my life. That van itself was the vehicle in several miracles. I happened to get a flat tire literally in front of the tire place where I had bought tires a few years before. My warranty had expired but someone else with the last name Basile still had a warranty and the service man took pity on me and gave me a tire. I had driven on the tire all morning. It could have blown out anywhere, but instead it blew out right in the spot I needed it to.
Though some may see it more as a tragedy to suffer out driving a van in a heat wave with no air conditioning and windows that did not roll down—I was still able to get to work each day. Of course I prayed each time I got in the stupid thing, but God made it last until August like I asked. And though this is a small thing, a small miracle, it helped me continue on in life.
We do not need a big ka-bang to have had a miracle in our lives. There does not have to be a burning bush, a fire breathing dragon slain, a neon lettered sign hanging in the sky with fireworks spelling out, “Hey you! Miracle coming—watch for it now!” We simply have to notice that what happened—shouldn’t have but it did anyway. We only have to see that we are somehow changed by what happens.
Sometimes people are put into our lives simply to be a miracle. It’s funny really, a dear friend of mine who is not a believer in miracles helped create one. He helped me to save someone whom I love very much and never realized he was the miracle. And it doesn’t matter what he believes—he is a miracle to me along with all of the other miraculous people who helped. There have been so many people in my life who have simply stepped in at the least expected time and changed my world. It isn’t luck(because mine isn’t very good). It isn’t even chance. It is what it is. You do not have to believe in miracles for them to happen. They happen anyway.
Does it mean my life is free of heartache? Does it mean that I live the life of Riley? Does it mean that things are easy and wonderful and perfect because I believe in miracles? Does it mean I never fear or question or wonder how I will get through what I have to get through?
Absolutely not.
It means that no matter how much I worry and no matter how much real or imagined tragedy may haunt me—I have hope that a miracle may just be waiting to appear as soon as I turn my head. I just have to stop a moment and notice.
Monika M. Basile
Ripples of Love
Sometimes love comes quietly without a fireworks show. Sometimes it is in the silence, in the normalcy and in the peacefulness that we fall in love. Yet, most of us don’t even realize it as we wait for the big ka-bang.
We can see the grandest passion as the ocean, a whirlwind of crashing waves and exotic creatures or we can realize that sometimes love is the quiet of a gentle ripple on a lake. Both can make you seasick if you are floating long enough. The whole point of it is, is that we need to anchor somewhere. We cannot float forever. We hope we don’t float forever drifting aimlessly while we wait for the tide to sweep us away into the fantasy we create in our own minds. We need to stop in our quest of only searching for the wildest turbulent emotion to tell us we have love in our life.
I want the quiet lake now. I want the sun setting in the same spot. I want to know that the waves won’t erode me or wash me away in a current of feeling—feelings that can last moments or even a lifetime. I want the constancy, the ever changing, shifting but without worrying there is shark waiting to bite my leg off.
I am not knocking passion. I love passion. I am filled with passion. I just have realized that I can be blinded by my own passions as well as others. I do not want to live without any type of passion I just do not need it to fuel the person I am so much anymore. I don’t need to have my heart skip beats every time I see someone to find the value in them anymore as my potential mate. And it is quite strange really; as I get older the things that make my heart fill are so very different than they used to be.
It used to be a handsome man would cause me a bit of dizziness and now—a man treating me kindly and as if I were someone precious, causes me the same dizziness. It used to be that the sparkle and flash of a man’s eyes would make me blush and now, a man looking in my eyes and listening—hearing what I am saying, causes the heat to creep to my cheeks. It is strange how much more beautiful all men have become to me as I let the notions of Adonis fall away.
I am not saying if you find someone physically repulsive that the thought of that would change. I am saying that there are so many more things that make a man handsome and set our hearts beating. It is easier for me to focus on his warm eyes, rather than the little beer belly—especially when he is looking at me as if I were the best thing that ever happened to him. It is easier to hold all sorts of different hands when they are holding mine with tenderness and knowing I may be as safely held in his heart. There is a comfort that is not unpleasant to hear a voice that has a slight lift to it when he says my name.
These are not huge things. These are not things that set bombs off all around me. Yet, they are things I want—the things that have no monetary value at all yet are priceless to me.
So many men are under the misguided assumption that women want it all—we want the house, the two point five kids, the two karat diamond, the social status etc. These things are all nice but that is all they are—they are nice things.
I want more. I want to watch the ripples on the lake and know that when I am growing old, there will still be ripples, different ripples—but the sun will set in the same spot every night. And I want to know there will be someone wanting to watch the sun setting in the same spot every night with me, holding my hand as well as my heart.
Monika M. Basile
We can see the grandest passion as the ocean, a whirlwind of crashing waves and exotic creatures or we can realize that sometimes love is the quiet of a gentle ripple on a lake. Both can make you seasick if you are floating long enough. The whole point of it is, is that we need to anchor somewhere. We cannot float forever. We hope we don’t float forever drifting aimlessly while we wait for the tide to sweep us away into the fantasy we create in our own minds. We need to stop in our quest of only searching for the wildest turbulent emotion to tell us we have love in our life.
I want the quiet lake now. I want the sun setting in the same spot. I want to know that the waves won’t erode me or wash me away in a current of feeling—feelings that can last moments or even a lifetime. I want the constancy, the ever changing, shifting but without worrying there is shark waiting to bite my leg off.
I am not knocking passion. I love passion. I am filled with passion. I just have realized that I can be blinded by my own passions as well as others. I do not want to live without any type of passion I just do not need it to fuel the person I am so much anymore. I don’t need to have my heart skip beats every time I see someone to find the value in them anymore as my potential mate. And it is quite strange really; as I get older the things that make my heart fill are so very different than they used to be.
It used to be a handsome man would cause me a bit of dizziness and now—a man treating me kindly and as if I were someone precious, causes me the same dizziness. It used to be that the sparkle and flash of a man’s eyes would make me blush and now, a man looking in my eyes and listening—hearing what I am saying, causes the heat to creep to my cheeks. It is strange how much more beautiful all men have become to me as I let the notions of Adonis fall away.
I am not saying if you find someone physically repulsive that the thought of that would change. I am saying that there are so many more things that make a man handsome and set our hearts beating. It is easier for me to focus on his warm eyes, rather than the little beer belly—especially when he is looking at me as if I were the best thing that ever happened to him. It is easier to hold all sorts of different hands when they are holding mine with tenderness and knowing I may be as safely held in his heart. There is a comfort that is not unpleasant to hear a voice that has a slight lift to it when he says my name.
These are not huge things. These are not things that set bombs off all around me. Yet, they are things I want—the things that have no monetary value at all yet are priceless to me.
So many men are under the misguided assumption that women want it all—we want the house, the two point five kids, the two karat diamond, the social status etc. These things are all nice but that is all they are—they are nice things.
I want more. I want to watch the ripples on the lake and know that when I am growing old, there will still be ripples, different ripples—but the sun will set in the same spot every night. And I want to know there will be someone wanting to watch the sun setting in the same spot every night with me, holding my hand as well as my heart.
Monika M. Basile
Calling the Perfect for me Man
Ahhh life. What strange twists and turns and drops off the edges of cliffs into the bottom of the “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” deep well of confusion.
I received a text recently from a man I dated for a moment over a year ago. I was surprised to hear from him and at the same time a bit flattered that he had saved my number. I do not save numbers of former “almost” men I saw simply because I fear I will hit their number in my contacts by accident and have to explain why I called. And besides, what is the point anyway?
So anywho, we have a polite little chat. He asks if I am seeing anyone and I text, “Not at the moment.” He says he is seeing someone. I can’t quite figure that out so I assume he is merely being “friend-like”. Low and behold, today, he texts again and I finally just out right ask why he is texting me if he is seeing someone. His answer is as follows:
“I’m going to be honest here. We are looking to have a threesome and I liked you before and I think you are really beautiful.”
Here is where I want to say, “What the blankety blank blank is going on?” but I can’t swear here—oh wait, I actually can but it bothers my mom when I swear too much so I won’t. Yet, I still felt the need to be polite and say no thank you, not ever in a million years, I only want all the moments of my life to be meaningful. He text back, “Why not just have sex with us until you find the one you are looking for…”
What is that? How am I continuing to attract this kind of behavior into my life? What is going on? Am I some sort of magnet of the oddest sort? I am not knocking anyone’s lifestyle choice. I am just wondering if I am sending some unconscious message to the universe that this is what I want for my life and I want men to crawl out of the woodwork to offer me their body parts or the use of their lady friends.
I responded one last time. Why? I don’t know why other than I am forever some sort of lady in my own mind. “No thank you, really. I want it all now. I want love, respect, continuity along with the mind blowing sex—I need something deeper to achieve that.” I responded no further.
Someone told me I needed to make a list of what I wanted in my “perfect for me man”. I am doing this and right here to try and counter act this bad mojo that is drawing everything I do not want to me and upsetting me.
The man who is perfect for me...
He will actually like me most of the time.
He will listen to me and tell me when I have talked too long.
We will be able to talk with each other instead of at each other.
He will find the oddness about me charming.
He will be kind.
He will respect me as much as I will surely respect him.
He will be strong in spirit and mind (and body would be an added bonus).
He will make me a priority.
He will have loving hands (they cannot be these weird little baby hands that make me cringe).
He will still have dreams.
He will look at me as if I am someone special.
He will not think of me as an afterthough.t
He will not be a racist or hate people just because they are different.
he will love my children even when they are awful just because they are mine.
He will not disappear when I need him, not fix my life but just be there with me to share in it as I go through the things I do just as I will do for him.
He will be nice to his mother even when she is annoying and to mine too when she is annoying.
He will think I am the perfect one for him.
I wonder if that is too much to ask for. I am putting it out there in the universe and now I shall wait and see.
Monika M. Basile
I received a text recently from a man I dated for a moment over a year ago. I was surprised to hear from him and at the same time a bit flattered that he had saved my number. I do not save numbers of former “almost” men I saw simply because I fear I will hit their number in my contacts by accident and have to explain why I called. And besides, what is the point anyway?
So anywho, we have a polite little chat. He asks if I am seeing anyone and I text, “Not at the moment.” He says he is seeing someone. I can’t quite figure that out so I assume he is merely being “friend-like”. Low and behold, today, he texts again and I finally just out right ask why he is texting me if he is seeing someone. His answer is as follows:
“I’m going to be honest here. We are looking to have a threesome and I liked you before and I think you are really beautiful.”
Here is where I want to say, “What the blankety blank blank is going on?” but I can’t swear here—oh wait, I actually can but it bothers my mom when I swear too much so I won’t. Yet, I still felt the need to be polite and say no thank you, not ever in a million years, I only want all the moments of my life to be meaningful. He text back, “Why not just have sex with us until you find the one you are looking for…”
What is that? How am I continuing to attract this kind of behavior into my life? What is going on? Am I some sort of magnet of the oddest sort? I am not knocking anyone’s lifestyle choice. I am just wondering if I am sending some unconscious message to the universe that this is what I want for my life and I want men to crawl out of the woodwork to offer me their body parts or the use of their lady friends.
I responded one last time. Why? I don’t know why other than I am forever some sort of lady in my own mind. “No thank you, really. I want it all now. I want love, respect, continuity along with the mind blowing sex—I need something deeper to achieve that.” I responded no further.
Someone told me I needed to make a list of what I wanted in my “perfect for me man”. I am doing this and right here to try and counter act this bad mojo that is drawing everything I do not want to me and upsetting me.
The man who is perfect for me...
He will actually like me most of the time.
He will listen to me and tell me when I have talked too long.
We will be able to talk with each other instead of at each other.
He will find the oddness about me charming.
He will be kind.
He will respect me as much as I will surely respect him.
He will be strong in spirit and mind (and body would be an added bonus).
He will make me a priority.
He will have loving hands (they cannot be these weird little baby hands that make me cringe).
He will still have dreams.
He will look at me as if I am someone special.
He will not think of me as an afterthough.t
He will not be a racist or hate people just because they are different.
he will love my children even when they are awful just because they are mine.
He will not disappear when I need him, not fix my life but just be there with me to share in it as I go through the things I do just as I will do for him.
He will be nice to his mother even when she is annoying and to mine too when she is annoying.
He will think I am the perfect one for him.
I wonder if that is too much to ask for. I am putting it out there in the universe and now I shall wait and see.
Monika M. Basile
It's the Journey
The journey I am taking is a wondrous one and a most confusing one. It is strange to see why certain things happened as they did in the aftermath. If we could be so lucky to know before those unknown steps are taken, we would never stick one toe out into the world.
Yet, this is how we learn about life and about love. We tentatively step—we courageously leap—we blindly fall—right into the midst of our lives not knowing what lies out there in the future.
Sometimes we are damaged in our haste and sometimes, the damage is what in fact builds our characters. It makes us more, it makes us see, and it makes us become who we should be.
Recently, I had an odd experience. I had a few amazing dates and then a kind of lackluster one with a lovely man and then did not hear from him for awhile. I wasn’t too bothered. I was okay about it. But I did wonder now and then what had happened.
You see, in my heart feelings had been lingering of someone else. I seemed to still have this small thought that the person would again be in my life—sooner or later. Life surprised me instead and I learned something in a random sort of way that ended that thought and hope for good. And I learned things I never wanted to know or learn. Another painful lesson that somehow made me more and also made me free at a time when I did not realize I was still jailed with a distant longing of what could have been. I let it go. I let that part of my life that I still clung to go even though it hurt.
The next day, the amazing date man contacted me. Hmmmm, I thought to myself, Why now? I went on another amazing date. I don’t know what will happen or how it will turn out. I will simply enjoy the time for what it is. I will appreciate it.
I realized something which almost embarrassed me to realize. Maybe I wasn’t ready yet for the amazing date man. Maybe I had not healed enough for a chance to see what could happen because I was still turning one eye towards the past and thinking about that too much.
Maybe life just said, “Hey, you ain’t ready lady! So we are stopping here til your heart catches up to your head. You ain’t ready I say.”
I think, sometimes I am lucky to have life constantly intervening and putting up roadblocks here and there on this journey. We are better off having what we need now and then rather than what we want.
Now I’m ready. Truly I am. Now I am savoring each moment of this journey and not in such a blind rush to find out the destination. I know, in the end, I will be where I am supposed to be and I will keep learning along the way.
Monika M. Basile
Yet, this is how we learn about life and about love. We tentatively step—we courageously leap—we blindly fall—right into the midst of our lives not knowing what lies out there in the future.
Sometimes we are damaged in our haste and sometimes, the damage is what in fact builds our characters. It makes us more, it makes us see, and it makes us become who we should be.
Recently, I had an odd experience. I had a few amazing dates and then a kind of lackluster one with a lovely man and then did not hear from him for awhile. I wasn’t too bothered. I was okay about it. But I did wonder now and then what had happened.
You see, in my heart feelings had been lingering of someone else. I seemed to still have this small thought that the person would again be in my life—sooner or later. Life surprised me instead and I learned something in a random sort of way that ended that thought and hope for good. And I learned things I never wanted to know or learn. Another painful lesson that somehow made me more and also made me free at a time when I did not realize I was still jailed with a distant longing of what could have been. I let it go. I let that part of my life that I still clung to go even though it hurt.
The next day, the amazing date man contacted me. Hmmmm, I thought to myself, Why now? I went on another amazing date. I don’t know what will happen or how it will turn out. I will simply enjoy the time for what it is. I will appreciate it.
I realized something which almost embarrassed me to realize. Maybe I wasn’t ready yet for the amazing date man. Maybe I had not healed enough for a chance to see what could happen because I was still turning one eye towards the past and thinking about that too much.
Maybe life just said, “Hey, you ain’t ready lady! So we are stopping here til your heart catches up to your head. You ain’t ready I say.”
I think, sometimes I am lucky to have life constantly intervening and putting up roadblocks here and there on this journey. We are better off having what we need now and then rather than what we want.
Now I’m ready. Truly I am. Now I am savoring each moment of this journey and not in such a blind rush to find out the destination. I know, in the end, I will be where I am supposed to be and I will keep learning along the way.
Monika M. Basile
Just Do It
“I’m not responsible for your happiness…”
Yes you are. And I am responsible for yours.
There is so much advice these days that absolve us of being responsible for others—in our love lives, family lives, work and play. Yet, we are all utterly responsible for each other and every action we take makes a difference of some sort in another life.
I was told recently that we all should be happy with ourselves and then we can love others. I disagree. I am not saying that we should walk around as miserable dregs of society. I am merely pointing out, that we humans, we have the power to bring joy as well as the power to bring sorrow. And maybe if we do some things simply to make someone else happy (as long as it does not damage us) then wouldn’t the world be a bit better off?
We have become selfish in our self preservation. We have become careless in our criticisms and pointing fingers at others and refusing to accept the blame our actions may have caused. We have focused on the “me” in our lives and are constantly trying to make ourselves better. Yet we have forgotten to focus on those around us just as much which may just have a chain reaction and make them better right along with us.
I think we get very lost in the thought that we must come first, we must please ourselves before we begin to help others or heal others or please others. It isn’t true. It just isn’t. I don’t have to be perfect to love you, to help you and to give something of value to you. In the giving of ourselves with no thought of "I am not good enough to do this yet", we become good enough. We become closer to that person we most want to be.
We are responsible and we shouldn't take that responsibility lightly. We are as responsible for other's happiness as well as their sadness. It is so simple yet so complex at the same time.
If I knew that all it would take to bring a smile to your face was a simple heartfelt, "I love you." or a hug, or a pat on the shoulder, a kiss on the cheek, a kind word--why wouldn't I give it in a heartbeat? Why would I wait or withhold what is dearest to another if it isn't a lie and causes me no pain to do so? What stops us from giving what costs us nothing to give? What stops us from giving what even has a high price if we know that it simply makes a difference in the world?
If it causes someone else to be sad or hurt because I ignore what they need or want doesn't that make me responsible? Doesn't that make us all responsible to do the best we can for each other? I think it does. If simply being there actually counts in someone's life, why would we ever think not to be there?
We tell all the people in our lives they are loved by our actions and our words. They count and we count. Why would we ever choose to deny them the best of us? There is plenty of it to go around.
Monika M. Basile
Yes you are. And I am responsible for yours.
There is so much advice these days that absolve us of being responsible for others—in our love lives, family lives, work and play. Yet, we are all utterly responsible for each other and every action we take makes a difference of some sort in another life.
I was told recently that we all should be happy with ourselves and then we can love others. I disagree. I am not saying that we should walk around as miserable dregs of society. I am merely pointing out, that we humans, we have the power to bring joy as well as the power to bring sorrow. And maybe if we do some things simply to make someone else happy (as long as it does not damage us) then wouldn’t the world be a bit better off?
We have become selfish in our self preservation. We have become careless in our criticisms and pointing fingers at others and refusing to accept the blame our actions may have caused. We have focused on the “me” in our lives and are constantly trying to make ourselves better. Yet we have forgotten to focus on those around us just as much which may just have a chain reaction and make them better right along with us.
I think we get very lost in the thought that we must come first, we must please ourselves before we begin to help others or heal others or please others. It isn’t true. It just isn’t. I don’t have to be perfect to love you, to help you and to give something of value to you. In the giving of ourselves with no thought of "I am not good enough to do this yet", we become good enough. We become closer to that person we most want to be.
We are responsible and we shouldn't take that responsibility lightly. We are as responsible for other's happiness as well as their sadness. It is so simple yet so complex at the same time.
If I knew that all it would take to bring a smile to your face was a simple heartfelt, "I love you." or a hug, or a pat on the shoulder, a kiss on the cheek, a kind word--why wouldn't I give it in a heartbeat? Why would I wait or withhold what is dearest to another if it isn't a lie and causes me no pain to do so? What stops us from giving what costs us nothing to give? What stops us from giving what even has a high price if we know that it simply makes a difference in the world?
If it causes someone else to be sad or hurt because I ignore what they need or want doesn't that make me responsible? Doesn't that make us all responsible to do the best we can for each other? I think it does. If simply being there actually counts in someone's life, why would we ever think not to be there?
We tell all the people in our lives they are loved by our actions and our words. They count and we count. Why would we ever choose to deny them the best of us? There is plenty of it to go around.
Monika M. Basile
