And just like that, my twenties turned into my thirties. This new decade for my new decade has had quite the rough start.

If anything, 2020 has been a year of deep universal reflection. What else is there to do when we are all suddenly forced to drop our daily routines and isolate from all social distractions? It really does put things into perspective when a novel, unseen global threat emerges and the entire world around you is flung into complete chaos.

Now that the initial shock has settled and life has started to resume some semblance of stability in this new normal, I am finally ready to sort through my many thoughts and try to make some sense of it all.

One major theme that has emerged so far has been the question of what matters most in life and why. In some ways, I felt like the last few years have prepared me to find clarity on this topic when circumstances challenged me to rethink my priorities.

All in all, I am so incredibly grateful for all that I have and for the ongoing safety and health of the most important people in my life. I remain generally optimistic that we will all emerge from this stronger than before, but there is a lot of deep work to be done in the meantime.

Groove

Music is one of the few passions in my life. There is nothing that makes me happier than live music. I have no musical talent of my own, but I cannot imagine my life without music in it. The soundtrack of my life is as eclectic as the happenstances that define my journey.  

Sometimes I buy pairs of tickets to the many concerts that I want to attend aspirationally. If I wait until I find someone to commit to a show for some obscure indie band at some small venue that is months away, then I would never get tickets to see the artists that I love. 

It has been over two years since my last serious relationship, but a small part of me is always optimistic that I will have found that partner-in-groove by the time the show pops up on my calendar. Or at least a worthy date. For the record, this has not been a successful strategy so far. 

When it comes to dating, a part of me is honestly really just looking for someone to dance with at concerts. I always have a great time introducing friends to my favorite bands as my last-minute plus ones, but I still feel a small twinge of jealousy when I see couples on the dance floor together. 

I realize in hindsight that one of the (many) reasons why my last relationship did not work out was a fundamental incompatibility in our perspectives toward music - he simply did not feel the same way I felt about music, and that was never going to change no matter how many concerts or music festivals that I insisted we attend together. This was an eye-opening revelation for me, and I was surprised by how long it took me to see it.

***

With about 30 hours notice, I asked if you wanted to go to a concert to see a band that you had likely never heard of before at a venue that was located (very far) east of the 405. The late show was (very) past a reasonable bedtime for you on a weeknight, and I knew that it was an aggressive proposition on my part, especially since you had known me for a total of about two hours at this point.

I figured that you had an easy practical out; the worst case scenario was that the ball would squarely be in your court to make the next move if you were actually interested in me. The best case was that I would get to see one of my favorite bands perform again and have the opportunity to get to know you a little better. 

I am not usually one to make a move like this, but I decided that I did not want to wait around and wonder whether boys actually liked me anymore. Why agonize over something that was completely out of my control and waste any more time regretting the missed opportunities? 

You said yes enthusiastically and we made plans.

I chattered nervously at you about music and my favorite concert venues in LA while you navigated the evening traffic on the long drive east. You bought me a drink at the bar and we stood on the half-empty dance floor at a distance that was close enough to each other for our bodies to occasionally touch for just a second mid-conversation, but still far enough away for the bumps to feel accidental. The conversation flowed as the space filled up around us, but I couldn’t shake the lingering feeling of awkward self-consciousness that was synonymous with not knowing what to do with my hands when posing for a photograph. 

When the lights dimmed and the curtains opened to reveal the opener, you instinctively wrapped your arm around my waist. It was a bold move, and I was impressed. As the crowd warmed up, so did we. I spent most of the night with both of your arms wrapped tightly around me and my fingers entwined in yours. 

This was without a doubt exactly what I needed to be doing with my hands all along. 

At the end of the night, you thanked me for asking you to the show and told me that this was one of the best concerts that you had ever attended. Was this a compliment to my good taste in music or to our incredible chemistry? 

We met at my favorite coffee shop on a Sunday afternoon. It had been more than a year since I last ventured into the world of online dating, but I finally felt somewhat ready to try and do this thing (to the extent that one is ever truly ready) again. This past year has been challenging in so many ways, and I was definitely not in a good place for much more than the on-again-off-again-what-the-fuck-are-we-doing-again thing I had with an all-too-familiar figure in my life.

I was more nervous about this coffee date than I would like to admit, but I had no real expectations. I uncharacteristically did not do much internet sleuthing about you before I agreed to meet for coffee. In fact, I did not even bother to look up the area code for your phone number. 

All I really knew was that you were 6 feet tall, worked in finance, and likely lived in the neighborhood. Based on the few messages that we exchanged, I figured that you were either going to be an extremely awkward numbers nerd or a stereotypically basic finance bro - I guess I was okay with taking the gamble as long as we were on my home turf.

We were both clearly regulars that the baristas recognized separately and now together; it was probably painfully obvious that we were on a blind first date. I suddenly became very self-conscious about the fact that I had never actually been on a first date that did not involve some amount of alcohol to help ease the inevitable social awkwardness of spending so much personal time with a complete stranger.

We walked to the beach and just talked for 2 hours on a bench overlooking the Pacific Ocean. You listened so intently, and your astute attentiveness somehow made me even more nervous. I probably talked way too much and led the conversation down strange tangents at times, but hopefully you found this as charming as I found you.

You pleasantly surprised me in so many ways, and I had a great time. Two hours may not be enough time to really get to know anybody, but I got genuinely good vibes from you.

Meeting you was a much needed reminder that there may actually be some nice and decent guys out there. Regardless of whether this turns into anything more than just a coffee with a neighbor, I do feel a little better knowing that this whole dating in LA thing may not be as bleak as I had once concluded.

Letting Go

Two years ago, we stumbled out of an after party together and made out in the back of an Uber on the way to your hotel room. You were in the process of moving back to Los Angeles and finalizing your divorce. I had just broken up with my serious long-distance boyfriend and was in the mood for some reckless fun.

We had first met and flirted shamelessly (but innocently) with one another at a random happy hour that got a little out of hand. The physical attraction was instant and intense - I have honestly never felt this way about someone before. I was completely overwhelmed by you and left abruptly before anything could happen. You were technically still married, after all.

Fast forward one month and here we were, continuing to make out against the wall in the hallway of a Brentwood hotel. For the first time, I really just let go and allowed myself to enjoy it for what it was. I had no real expectations for what would be or could be for us.

We woke up next to each other, holding hands. Things between us were fabulous for a while. You really surprised me as I actually got to know you. You were not the person that I expected you to be in all the best ways. But as these things go, it all quickly spun out of control.

Getting to know you was like peeling a really big onion - there was just layer after never-ending layer of complication beyond anything that I could have imagined. It had never previously occurred to me how black and white my worldview remained about certain things. In hindsight, I was certainly not emotionally equipped to process your extreme baggage in a constructive way, let alone help you navigate all the different shades of gray. You were a mess on so many levels, and my feelings were inadvertently bruised as a result. I guess I couldn’t say that I wasn’t warned. Onions do make you cry, after all.

The next year and a half was one chaotic game of emotional ping pong with no clear end goal - we volleyed with one another pointlessly. When I decided I had had enough, you would reappear in my life in the most serendipitous ways. From what I could tell, you probably felt the same way about me to some degree.

Eventually, it felt like you were pulling away for good. Again, I let go, this time of you. I decided that I was never going to be “second wife” material anyway.

We ended up at a dark dive bar with the rowdy after party crew this year. I turned around at the crowded bar area and there you were. The rest of the night was honestly all a blur after this. We did not even get a chance to say goodnight to one another when the lights turned on and everyone dispersed from the bar into their Ubers home.

After kicking off my favorite patent heels and pulling the false eyelashes off my eyelids when I got home, my phone suddenly pinged with a message from you. A rapid-fire and absolutely ridiculous exchange of emoticons, emojis, and half sentences later, you acknowledged the elephant in the room and I was in yet another Uber heading to your place - this time with a change of clothes in my backpack along with my glasses and a pair of sensible shoes. I suppose you could call this progress.

This was not like me at all. But you know what? I honestly could not care less about the external connotations of my private actions. You know me. I know you. Neither of us love the versions of ourselves that we are to the rest of the world. We can both be so fucking uptight. You can’t take a joke. I am too “intense.” Yet, you are still the only person with whom I have ever been able to feel comfortable enough to truly let go of all of this and relax enough to see the other side. It takes one to know one, I guess.

The next morning, I stepped out of your beautiful rain shower and wrapped myself in a lush Restoration Hardware towel. I stood barefoot in your living room and looked down into the meticulously pruned courtyard below as you ironed your shirt and went through your morning routine. Was it a mistake to think to myself that I could really get used to this?

We laid under the covers on opposite sides of the bed and pretended that this was not awkward at all. The in-room air conditioning unit rumbled loudly in the background. “So, what do you do?” All I knew was your first name and that you were on your way home to New York. Our paths had crossed at the airport, and here we were, approximately five hours later.

It was remarkably easy to talk to you. We bonded over our deeply personal reasons for choosing Bali as our solo travel destination. It has been a particularly difficult and somewhat traumatic year for me, but the big problems that had consumed me for the past few months seemed so distant and oddly insignificant when I tried to articulate them to a complete stranger in bed. I could tell that you could relate to this revelation.

Maybe it had something to do with the healing properties of 3-4 hours of daily yoga in the tropical weather, the 10,000 or so miles of physical distance traveled, and/or the active volcanic eruption threatening our safety less than 40 miles away, but I finally felt like I found the new perspective and inner peace that I was seeking on this adventure during our little pillow talk. 

Thus began our whirlwind 36 hour romance and the series of unbelievably unfortunate and fortunate events that defined our long journeys home. 

On so many levels, this all felt like destiny. A volcano had to violently erupt while I happened to be on the other side of this planet alone for us to meet. I have never been this instantly at ease or connected on such a deeply intimate level with someone so quickly before, but it all felt so right in the moment.

We may never see each other again, but we will always have Agung and Sunset Road.

For the first time ever, I managed to effortlessly flow through chaturanga in my vinyasa. I was honestly a little astonished when I went for it and succeeded - it was such an amazing feeling of accomplishment. I am very proud of the strength that I have gained in the past 18 months or so of dedicated Lagree training.

I’m totally stoked and inspired to reground myself in my practice!