The Quest

by Olivia Gracey

  I woke up this morning and the thoughts about what was missing in my life hit me full force right smack in the face! I needed a kiss; not a sloppy kiss; not a peck kiss with closed lips you know that kind, tight mouth, no tongue, and dry. No, I needed a meaningful fill up my lungs, curl my toes, and tell me what your desires with your tongue are kind of kiss. And I needed it badly. Why out of the blue was I needing such a thing? Well, I awoke with this craving. Kinda like a brownie fudge sundae craving, except without the nuts, that had the pit of my stomach aching. I realized what was missing was that connection, that feeling, that want, that hunger. I was missing the desire, the urge, the tingling feeling that stands the hair up on the back of my neck along with the butterflies that danced in chaos begging to be freed to fly into the midnight sky. I’m a very passionate person and a deep passionate kiss is vital and healthy to my well-being. It is vital to my surviving the lonelies. Now that I realize I was without it, it scared the hell out of me.

  I awoke feeling quite philosophical about my life too and where I stood in it. My thirty something years were upon me and without question, I was not where I thought I’d be at this time. I was not happily married to the hunk of my dreams, I was not a wife nor a mother, nor was I even close to becoming one in the months ahead. I had no prospects of even someone worthy enough in my life to help me fulfill those roles. Yes, I was close before, and yes I say from time to time I don’t ever want to go through all the drama associated with getting married again. But the hard fact is, I deserved to be someone’s forever bride. And as hard as I may try to be hard-hearted and cold about it, I still longed for it. I still believe there’s that perfect someone out there for me, there just has to be.

  I was trying to sit still, allowing my thoughts to run rampant within my mind and it wasn’t easy to do. No stopping the pain of the reality to how I truly felt about myself. I allowed the critique to expose my worst of worst within me, get it all out, truth bearing and brutal. We can’t see ourselves. Sometimes that’s a good thing, sometimes it’s not. Right now I was wishing I had noticed it before. I was wishing I didn’t have all these things my judgmental side of myself was so brutally pointing out. But she was right. I needed to face the demons within me that wasn’t allowing me to move forward in my life. The ones that built that damn wall. The ones that have told me I wasn’t worthy of being loved and have caused me to embark on this journey to be forever alone. I knew I didn’t want that, they did. I needed to rid my heart and head of them, so I let her rant.

  For hours my inner being ranted, scolded, recanted every date I had had. She pointed out the good in some, the good I couldn’t see for my blindness, and then pointed out the bad that I allowed. She reminded me of all the moments ‘he’ entered my mind and how I compared him to every man I had met since him. That shook me. I didn’t realize I was doing that. But she was right. Looking back I can remember that. I did. I compared every man to Radley. OMG!

  The very thought he had such control over me brought tears to my eyes. I realized poor Ed never had a chance. The life I had with Ed I always felt should have been my life with Radley. I took my frustration out on him and sabotaged our relationship for it. A blessing in disguise it was that I had miscarried. Did I just say that? Yes, but poor Ed’s life would have been ruined with me. I could have never been the wife he deserved. Nor the wife that should have loved him the way a wife should love her husband. My heart just wasn’t in it.

  Then the countless dates I had been on, crazy and otherwise, I knew were doomed from the start too. I could now see clearly Radley’s lips were always on my mind when those guys kissed me good night. They didn’t stand a chance with me either. In my heart, they just couldn’t compete. He was my Lion hidden in the jungle of my heart. Whenever anyone came too close, and I thought they might be a perfect fit for me, he would devour them. Leaving me to doubt the relationship. There was never any real competition when it came to him. In my lovesick mind, Radley was still the perfect man for me, even with all the misgivings, the heartaches, the abandonment, the brutal honesty, or the way he chose to love me, he was still the one I longed for. Upon awaking this morning when I recanted the type of kiss I was needing in my life, it was his kiss I realized I was missing. His lips. His breath. His tongue entangled with mine. The critique in me was right. But what can I say? He was my heart. My life. My everything. Now I needed to face the reality that he was just a memory. If it was possible to rid him there, well then I needed to. But I knew that wasn’t possible.

  I’ve been alone with my thoughts before, on the floor, on the beach, on work assignments. Those times were not always the best of times. The outcome was still the same, though. I’m not a good listener when it comes to my own advice. Oh, I can dish it out to others, tell them straight, encourage them to make changes, but I resist when it comes to my own person. Why is that?

  The critique within me explained it quite simply. You can’t see yourself. Then she began her quest of re-building my psyche. She knew the woman within me was somehow, somewhat broken still, and she felt it was time to remove the duct tape and make a more permanent fix. A fix that didn’t peel or that would be noticeable if times bore another heartache. Most importantly, a fix like I wouldn’t know I was ever broken in the first place. That I wondered if it was even possible to be like new again. So with it, I welcomed all she had to say to me.

  She began promptly by pointing out my accomplishments, the things I was most proud of in myself for achieving, like my keen eye for my photography, and the photography jobs I had landed over the years. How I built my brand, and the reputation I had earned rightfully. I agreed with her. Those were things that took me years to master and I was proud of myself for having a clear understanding of the mechanics of a camera, as well as having the knack of the art to achieve a sought after job in the field of photography. The competition in the field of photography was fierce. I was highly recommended and never went without exciting adventurous work.

  She pointed out the years of the self-discipline I had adhered to. My years of taking great care of the body that was born to me. How appraising she was about my many hours spent running and in the gym. How heart-healthy I must be. She never scolded me for my splurges on cheese fries smothered in salt and ranch sauce. She never scolded me for midnight pizzas or margaritas. She made it clear that treating myself was a must to muster the daily task in my life. Moderation she reminded, everything in moderation. Ya, ya, ya, I already knew that I reminded her.

  She spoke of how far I had come emotionally. How I was able to overcome obstacles and march forward with my pursuit of happiness. She was beyond amazed that I was able to get off my beautiful, beckoning hardwood floor. “A broken woman is not broken through fault of her own, but by the hands of a man, who never took the time to learn to love her for who she truly was.” And she was right. As much as I had blamed myself, deep down I knew it wasn’t my fault. Just as I knew I couldn’t have avoided the train wreck either.

  My strength: she praised. My perseverance: she encouraged. My grit: she admired.

  I was shocked when she spoke of the woman that I had always wanted to return to and said she had already arrived within me. What did she mean? I was far from being the woman I knew I once was. I was tainted, damaged goods and unworthy. She ignored my unraveling and revealed a secret that reached deep within my soul that took the breath out of me. A secret I never for once believed no matter who said so. The art of not being able to see yourself rings twofold. But with a clear thought and without hesitation, she wasted no time whispering, “You’re beautiful.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes. I didn’t agree with her. I never felt beautiful in my life even as a child. Deep inside I had always felt homely and mis-fitted. I had never heard myself say, “wow, she’s beautiful,” when I looked in the mirror. I always found fault me. Always. So I argued and disagreed with her again reminding her of my many faults too as she placed before me my mirror of truth. “You can’t see yourself remember,” she scolded. �
��For once look at yourself through someone else’s eyes.”

  “Whose?” I asked innocently. There were no other eyes I could look through. It was just a sad fact of the matter for me. Of course, I was okay with it, I mean, not everyone can be beautiful. If we all looked the same this world wouldn’t be the same. I was my own crazy kind of beautiful. I knew this. I was okay with it too. I took great pride in my kind of crazy, my kind of beautiful but of course not everyone could be like me either.

  “Beauty isn’t found on the outside of yourself. Not in your hair, your lips, your eyes, oh those things can be beautiful, but beauty comes from deep within you. It’s the glue that seals your heart. The liquid that moistens your soul. It’s your inner spirit. It’s what makes you, you!”

  I suddenly remembered the woman I used to be, the kind generous woman who loved unconditionally. Who never found fault in anyone and uplifted everyone she came in contact with. The woman who never complained about anything, just took life as it was given to her with a smile. The woman within me, who was satisfied with the hand that was dealt to her, and played it well always winning. The unbroken woman was still residing inside of me. I knew her well I just refused to allow her to shine anymore. Over time I made excuses for her giving her reasons to stay hidden, allowing her to grieve with me over the broken promises of a man. I didn’t want her to re-appear. It would mean she could be broken again. I couldn’t allow that. Being broken is hard. Even though I felt I was healed now I just couldn’t allow it. How could I allow that to happen all over again? No Way!

  “Let it go,” sternly she scolded. “Let it All go.”

  “What do you mean All?” I screamed at her.

  “Every last bit of it!”

  “I already have! I did. I-I did!” Tears were trying to creep out of my eyes. Shame on them. They were not allowed to cry. “I did! You know I did!”

  “Did you?”

  I stared coldly at her questioning myself now. Did I? My fingers picked tissue after tissue out of the box, till it was empty. Just like the tissue box I emptied my eyes and emptied my heart. She was right. I was still holding on to the what-ifs, the could-have-been, the should-have-been, instead of playing the hand I was dealt. Why was I holding on to him like he was my ace-in-the-hole?

  “So he walked away. So he came back. So he walked away again, and now he’s back again. So.” She reminded me of the painful truth. “It was okay that you couldn’t let go of him, he couldn’t let go of you either. But it didn’t mean you were destined to be together, it just meant you had a connection you both couldn’t let go of.”

  Then she asked a far more painful question. One I hadn’t asked of myself. “Was he truly the man you wanted by your side for life?”

  Honestly? Was he? Was he truly the man I could live out the rest of my days calling him my husband? My everything? Would he have been the one that I would have wanted to grow old with? My answer came fast. Like a bullet shot straight through my heart. It surprised me at how quick it spewed from my mouth too. So quick I didn’t have a chance to pull it back. “No. No, he’s not.”

  I threw up.

  With tears and snot pouring from my soul I emptied everything in my stomach all over my floor with no time to reach the commode. My body trembled. My head pounded. The truth hurt so badly now. I hung my head low ashamed of my response.

  “So why hang on?” she spoke softly as the last moistened tissue wiped away the spit from my lips.

  I bowed my head again in shame and mumbled humbly not looking at her reflection, afraid to see the hurt in her eyes, “I dunno. I suppose I never found a replacement, only distractions.”

  “But you also never allowed yourself to replace him. You found fault with every guy you met and built that wall high so not one of them could scale it. Not even Ed. As perfect as Ed was for you, you wouldn’t allow him to be. You made excuses and blamed it on not being able to have children.”

  “I know. But the little things. It was the little things Ed did for me that were amazing,” I reminded her as if she didn’t know. “They were so different from the little things Radley ever did.” I realized that now.

  She was right. I did all those things and more to keep my heart safe. It scared the hell out of me to love another man. I felt vulnerable, weak, intimidated by love. I felt I’d rather have something meaningless with someone than have something meaningful that would eventually destroy me. Ed scared the hell out of me. He was genuine and real. The type of man my heart longed for and I wouldn’t allow myself to love him back the way he deserved to be loved.

  In the hours of tears, I confessed all my meaningless relationships with the many men who walked through my door since Radley walked out on me. Many of them I never saw again. A few held on in hopes my feelings would change for them; a few I held on to because frankly they were just too good to let go of. But I used them all for one reason or another and I admitted to doing so. I confessed that the woman I had become had destroyed me. She disagreed adding that the woman walking with her knew who she was and she was not destroyed, but all the wiser now.

  Wow. In one swift move of the tongue, she called me wise. My mind did feel clever. My eyes, now dry, amazingly my heart no longer heavy. It felt so good to release all those fears and thoughts. It felt good to cry a river too. Very cleansing to my soul no doubt. It felt good to listen to my own advice. Most importantly it felt good to call myself beautiful. Staring into my bathroom mirror, into mascara ruined eyes, you know the ones, the ones you can’t disguise, I repeated, “Beautiful. Beautiful!” with a wide smile. She reminded me the one thing I had long forgotten. She reminded me how important it was for me to love “me.”

  I suddenly found the urge to make a bucket list of not all of the things I wanted to do and had yet to accomplish in my life, but of things I missed most, the little things. Have you ever done that? Made a bucket list? I scrounged my apartment for a notepad and pen. When I located them I sat down at my kitchen bar scratching my list hurriedly before my thoughts left me. I didn’t want to forget the things flowing through my mind.

  1. Deep kisses

  2. Butterfly dances

  3. Making out in a theater

  4. Drive in movies

  5. Walks through a park

  6. Watching for shooting stars

  7. Skinny dipping

  8. Holding hands

  Hmm. Looking over my list I realized I’d need a man for all those things. So I drew a line dividing my paper. These little things only pertain to me and the little things that I need to do often to make me smile:

  1. Dance in the rain

  2. Buy comfy new white socks

  3. Fluffy PJ pants

  4. Truffles

  5. Dig my toes in the cool sand

  6. A margarita

  7. Dance in my socks

  8. Pamper myself

  9. Bake in the sun

  10. Watch a chick movie

  11. Clean a hard wood floor

  12. Go running

  13. Go hiking through the woods

  14. Help someone

  15. Smile at a stranger

  16. Smile for no reason at all

  Yes, my list always starts with sexual endeavors. Not entirely my fault. I mean we are human. Humans thrive off of feelings. Most of those feelings are deep rooted with pleasurable tendencies so it’s natural when you think of pleasure to think of sex. It’s a need; a want; a desire. I think humans are just designed that way. Who am I to argue with the laws of nature? I figure since I’m going through a dry spell without love in my life my desires and needs would have settled a little. Not to be as evident or strong, but no. They are just as strong when I’m alone as they are when I’m with someone. I think I’m just wired that way. I would love to have a man in my life, especially to share things like this with, but in the times I don’t I have ways of taking care of the craving myself. No, it’s not my preferred method. I love the feel of a man. Nothing replaces that feeling. I miss it. I long to run my fingers acr
oss the muscle-bound chests and hard rock biceps. I adore the skin to skin contact, the sweat beading between us, the kisses on my neck. I miss the attention to the little spots that drive me wild that only he can kiss. And the look in his eyes when he takes control. But when there’s no one available in my life, and I’m rather picky in that aspect for I am not a hookup gal, I tend to gravitate to something that just releases the tensions within me and cures the craving for a while.

  Oh, before I forget, one last thing on my bucket list…

  17. Pray it forward

  Chapter Nine

  The Art of Never Giving UP

  I have a type. Yes, a type of guy that is that I’m widely attracted to and looking for. What is it you ask? Well, since you asked, he must be taller, muscular, with a baby face and a sweet smile. He must be smart, strong, athletic, nicely groomed, and good smelling. Yes, I love a man who smells intoxicating! He may be into sports, yoga, or just plain artistic. You know, musician or something. But he must like football and hanging around on my big overstuffed couch on occasions. He can’t be vain or superficial, and definitely no flirter unless of course he’s flirting with me, in that case, it is acceptable and very welcomed.

  He would like to dance, maybe not be that good at it, but that’s okay too. I like the slow grooves so as long as he likes to get close on the dance floor, that’ll work. Is he a social drinker? I prefer him to be. I don’t like drinking alone and I love a good margarita or sangria on occasion. He must have a nice laugh, not a horse laugh, or an annoying laugh that doesn’t match his voice tone. Have you heard one of those? Hard not to notice. He must be kind, generous, practice good manners and practice the art of compassion. He mustn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, no momma’s boys, but a manly man. But not one that hunts. I’m drawing the line on this one. Sorry but not dealing with the whole Radley hunting type that loves hanging deer heads all over my house type of guy again.