I want to find the person who feels like my whole world. Someone who makes me feel complete. As if everything else becomes optional because all I need and want is right here with you.
Anywhere with you feels perfect. Traffic? Perfect. The grocery store? Perfect. Walking down the same old street? Perfect.
Some might say “you have to find that in yourself” and sure, Carol, you’re probably right but after finding that in myself I’d love to find that with another too.
I think life feels better when shared. What is the point of having the whole world yet being alone?
—
Life has been such an interesting journey. This morning I was hiking in Idyllwild and for a moment could see fragments of my journey reflected in my minds eye like a movie. I recalled being a child in Brazil. I recalled arriving in the U.S and pretending to string English words together in the mirror. I flashbacked through my life up until this point, standing accomplished on 1900 elevation gain, resting against a rock next to a tall, chubby pine tree whose fine needles glowed elegantly in the sun. The air: cool, crisp, soft, silent. The view – magnificent. As I marveled at the scene I couldn’t help but feel this immense sense of awe for how far I’ve come. What a ride! What a privilege I’ve been given.
Thank you, life. Thank you.
Mmmm. Divine.
But where to from here?
—
Driving out into nature used to be my most favorite experience. Seeing the mountains would make me lose it. Obsessed. Enamored by God’s creations. I could linger forever. While this time around I still felt this sense of wonder, it was certainly dimmed. As if life is expecting something from me that I can’t get away from. Some unfinished business of sorts. Like a summons I keep ignoring. It’s as if this isn’t a season for wandering.
“You’ll be happier once you’ve answered the call.” That was the sense I received.
What call!?
It’s is as if life is asking me to become a different version of myself. It wants me focused. Productive. It wants me in service. But what service?
I feel painfully, yet wonderfully erratic. Volatile.
One day I have a carefully detailed plan, the next I am executing something completely different. It’s like I can’t be contained. I’m an artist. A lover. A dancer in the wind.
I know I want land and a home.
I also want to leave to Italy.
What really matters in the end anyway?
Lately I have been thinking perhaps: experiences.
A breadth and depth of experiences.
Health.
Freedom.
Awe.
Delight.
Magic.
Ahhhh….
Unleash me. Hold me.
I am hard to contain….
And I think I love that about me.
But anyway, back to this world I mentioned in the beginning.
I want it.
I want to just rest on your perfectly strong, warm, cozy shoulders.
You are home.
You are everything.
For a moment there I forgot who I was… like I had early amnesia except it looked more like being curled up in fetal position for hours and crying into my vanilla latte.
On the outside it looks great — sunny San Diego beach life, cozy cafes, bay walks, nature, books, clean sheets.
Inside? A tornado.
Yet, somehow, I lived through it.
As we approach the grand finale of the shit show that was 2025 I have nothing more to do than to bow to life for it’s elaborate, dramatic performance. “Namaste, bitch.” I am thoroughly surprised and speechless. Though I suppose not that speechless because here I am yapping about it.
I am very slowly starting to feel like myself again — a hopeless romantic, addicted to nostalgia and lost in the magic of life. I just want to drift away in unfettered abandon and land gently in the arms of a lover who may or may not exist but surely does in the cloud of my hopes.
Ahhh. Heaven.
Do you ever feel that? In love with someone you don’t even know yet?
Gahhh… whisk me away.
Anyway… I’ve been thinking some pretty negative thoughts and I don’t like it. I believe this has challenged my health a bit. Which is wild since this was the one thing I could say I had pretty dialed in and under control. But time is passing man. I just did my 37th lap around the sun. Whoa… who me!??
I don’t know how to be this woman I’m becoming. Who the heck is that staring at me in the mirror and where’d cute, little Laura go?
Now, suddenly I’m cranky and have the patience of a rabid raccoon.
But I am learning to love me. Not in an arrogant “I don’t need nobody” kind of way. Genuinely. Not a vain love. True love. Compassion. Fascination for the mere existence I’ve been given. I mean, I sort of always hovered around these themes — sometimes much much further away in the distance. But now I am moving closer to myself. Kindly. Unconditionally. Accepting my rhythm without judgment. Without rushing myself to some outcome. It’s still a messy project; a construction site with beams sticking out of the cracked foundation and unfinished wooden framing waiting patiently to be made into something stable. Solid. Complete.
Under construction…yep, that’s me.
Mmm…
Let’s rest here together as we contemplate love a little longer, shall we?
As we contemplate home.
I’ve been yearning for this sense of home, but not the kind that holds an address.
More a person who feels like home.
A person who feels like my whole world.
A bond so deep we don’t need much outside of each other.
Do you think that’s real? Does it exist?
It feels like I’ve time traveled and landed in a parallel universe.
I’m numb and in awe.
It’s you, but it’s not you.
Like I’m in a dream.
You’re picking me up in an 80’s Cadillac, no seat belt. Holding the door like a gentleman.
The speedometer trembling to keep up. A dream catcher hanging from your windshield mirror. The lights on the road, purple. It’s as if I’m in a film. I’m again reminded of the magic. The moments of whimsey my heart lives for. The words coming out of your mouth; strangely familiar. Like you traveled from another timeline, except it’s not really you. Just the semblance.
Today you put a watch on my wrist. Like he put a bracelet. It’s like I was re-living the past in a warped reality where time was outside of time. As if dimensions had been collapsed together and I’ve been brought back here with you, except it’s not you. We drove past a store with his name written on it. What? His name.But not him. You. This moment, this car…
“Am I dreaming?”
Some moments in life are so unpredictable. So magical. It reminds me what I live for.
One moment we’re exchanging glances. The next we’re kissing in your bedroom in the dark.
—
On the surface I’m ok, but underneath there is a volcano.
I’m afraid of closeness. Like once you know me it won’t be the same.
And vice versa. Once I know you, maybe it won’t be the same.
—
The roads here make me nostalgic. If there is one word that captures the timbre of my soul, that one is probably it.
Anyway, this weird abstract message is all I have for today. It’s all been so weird lately.
—
I think I want a husband.
Oh, how I wish I could turn back time and make better choices.
How I wish I could transcend.
How I wish it could be me, you, peace, our home and the dogs on the land.
How I wish we could wake up slowly.
Where each dawn by your side feels like a perfect eternity I am grateful to open my eyes in each day;
cozy, warm, soft, safe, indulgent.
How I wish we could unravel gently.
No place to rush to except your embrace.
No bills to worry over,
No lack,
No fear.
Joy.
true, delicious, juicy joy.
Savoring the moment. Mmm.
Excited by the adventure and the unfolding of life like two kids on the night before Christmas.
Trusting that it’s all in alignment.
Trusting we can take beautiful, bold, ecstatic leaps knowing in full faith the nets will appear – always, without fail. Knowing that even in moments of challenge we get to make the best of the adventure.
Knowing that we have each other, peace, love, life, and the land.
Oh, how I wish it were so.
What really matters in love? Truly?
At the end of the effing day, when it is all said and done — what’s left?
What actually matters?
I keep circling back to this phrase: the full package.
But what does that even mean?
It’s hard to say when there are different types of love.
Love from mother to child.
Love from friend to friend.
Love from person to object.
Love from person to God.
Sibling love.
Romantic love.
You name it…
but what is IT?
Does love have a core?
Are these just branches on the same sprawling tree?
Is it a feeling?
An experience?
An idea?
An act?
An expression?
A combination of these?
A thing which cannot be explained in words?
GAHHH.
Why are we humans so complicated?
Is that part of the fun?
Relationships can be complicated.
When we love, we ache to keep it. We lay claim: my boyfriend, my partner, my person. And in that claiming, fear creeps in. We don’t want to lose them. We don’t want to see them laughing in the corner with someone else. So we make rules. We get jealous. We clutch tight.
Maybe that’s just where we are in our evolution. Still learning. Still human. Still attached.
And still, I wonder: at the core, what is it we really want?
Connection?
Safety?
Something else?
Some say love is a drug. Taste it once, and suddenly you’re hooked. Restless, aching, feening for another hit. You find yourself staring at your phone waiting for that text to come through. One little buzz, that name flashing on your screen and the rush floods in; sharp, fast, like a bump of cocaine.
“I miss you” they say.
You feel high.
But that’s it. No follow up. No change.
You feel low.
Oh, so low.
Sigh.
Hm…
Perhaps there isn’t one neat answer.
Life is too dynamic, too wild, too fluid to be contained by a single defining answer. What may be true today may be false tomorrow. Someone can say “I love you” today and drop you tomorrow. In the wise words of Snoop Dog, “It do be like that sometimes.”
Perhaps love is less of a one size fits all answer but more an art. Perhaps it’s not a thing we can shove into a neat little box slapped with a label that says “love is THIS.” Perhaps it’s more a force that can’t be contained. Perhaps it takes many forms, many names, many flavors, many sounds, many textures, many shapes.
And somehow, all of them different yet all of them true.
What a ride. What a ride.
Every now and then, God seems to send me little surprises. Winks that whisper, “I’m still here. I’m still watching you. I’m listening. I care.”
Like today, when there was an unexpected knock on my door.
In this world, people rarely knock unannounced so obviously I was filled with curiosity, “Who could that be?”
I peeked through the window and saw her—my upstairs neighbor’s mother who’s been visiting for the month to help her daughter. My neighbor is from Brazil, like me, which is something that has bonded us in a tender way. Her mother is a small woman. Her round frame carrying the kind of softness that makes you instantly think of comfort food and unconditional love. The kind of figure that reminds me of an Italian nonna, only in this case, a Brazilian mãe.
She was beaming, holding up a blue-lidded Tupperware like a trophy. Inside: a generous slice of carrot cake covered in glossy brigadeiro icing, our national chocolate treasure. The sight alone felt like home.
Her gesture was so simple, yet it landed in my heart like a divine reminder: You are not forgotten. Not by God, not by humanity, not by life itself. At least that’s the story I chose to believe. And it’s far better than the other one where miracles have dried up and the heavens have turned away.
Because the truth is, life can be unbearably dark sometimes. Heavy enough to crush and test my faith. But then, in moments like this, an old-fashioned knock at the door, a motherly smile, a Tupperware of sweetness…I find myself believing again.
So when in doubt, choose kindness.
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