Beauty

A friend and I were reminiscing the other day about a few TV shows that we watched as kids. We were discussing "Wonder Woman," when I asked, do you remember "The Secrets of Isis?" He said, "I loved Isis!" Without hesitation I gushed, "I wanted to be Isis! I wanted to be Wonder Woman, too!" We laughed for a moment, then he said, "Isn't it interesting that gay boys want to be heroes like Wonder Woman and Isis, rather than Aquaman, or some other male superhero?" It made me wonder, why are so many icons for gay men women?

Growing up, I can vividly remember dangling a towel around my head, pretending it was long, luxurious locks of hair. I can remember wrapping my body in a blanket, imagining myself clothed in a form-fitting, stunning evening gown. When I was lucky enough, I would commandeer a pair of my mothers high heels and wear them around, proud of this gorgeous feminine creature that I had, in my mind, become. I did this with no shame, no deliberation, no remorse. It was natural for me. It was the exploration of my feminine side, the innate longing to understand the sense of femininity and beauty that lay inside of me.

Growing up, I left such things behind, slowly becoming more comfortable with the masculine side of my being. Yet, deep inside, I still help on to that desire to be beautiful.

I can remember as a young adult, specifically shunning anything typically "gay." Until my late twenties, I had never heard a Patsy Cline song. I refused to listen to her, as she was a stereotypically gay icon, and I did not want to allow myself the possibility of liking her. That would be expected of a gay man. Barbra Streisand? Ditto. Joan Crawford, Bette Midler, Cher -- any stereotypically gay icon I simply turned my eyes and ears to. Then one day, I thought, "Fuck it, let's see what all of the hype is about," and I listened to my first Patsy Cline song. I was mesmerized. Such an incredible voice. Such swooning emotion. She spoke to me...

Over the years, I discovered the talents of other gay icons, some intentionally, some by happenstance. Though my mind wanted to fight the attraction to them, my heart somehow overruled, and I became enthralled with these icons, as so many generations of gay men before me had done. What is it about these women that makes for such positive role models for gay men?

I think within all gay men is a desire to be beautiful. I don't mean in the purely physical sense (though, God knows, gay men have an almost obsessive need to be outwardly beautiful). I mean beauty in all it's forms. I think all gay boys -- growing up to be gay men -- have desire to have someone really see who they are, to accept them, unconditionally, for the beautiful creatures they are. We want to be recognized for our inner strength -- the fortitude for standing tall when everyone is making fun of us, ridiculing us, abusing us, or telling us we're wrong, worthless or going to hell. We want someone to see our humor -- our ability to laugh at not only ourselves, but at the small absurdities that make life delicious. We want someone to accept the desire that we have to be loved -- truly loved -- by someone that just happens to be of the same gender. We want someone to see our vulnerability, tears, weaknesses, successes, hurts, anger, spunk, giddiness, loyalty, romanticism, sensuousness, and affection. We want someone to see that light in our eyes that says. "I am what I am." We want someone to see our...beauty.

I think it is the characteristics that we want others to see in us that draws us to these women who seem to embody all that we want to be. If you look at any gay icon, you will see someone who has led a life that parallels that of a gay man -- self-awareness, self-doubt, success, criticism, standing tall in the face of adversity. These icons are deeply sure of themselves, their abilities, and of who they are, even when everyone around them is telling them to give up, or that they will fail, or that they are not as relevant as others around them. These icons die many figurative deaths, but they persevere. They are unflinching when they need to be, tender when they know to be, and invisible when they have to be. But regardless of what happens, these icons retain their dignity and their strength, and they radiate a light of self-assurance. They are...beautiful.

I cannot speak for all gay men, but I know that I do have the desire to have others see my beauty. I know who I am, what makes me the person that I am, and what it took to get me this far. I know that I have the ability to make others laugh. I have the ability to cry at the smallest thing that touches my heart. I can be outrageous, sensitive, smitten, and carefree. I can be strong, yet insecure. I can hold a friend who needs to be comforted, and can sink into anothers arms when I need to be embraced. I can fight when I need to, and I can back down when I am wrong. I have an unlimited capacity for love. And I can have my heart broken. All of these things make me beautiful. And I desire to have it be recognized. I want the world see all that I embody. I think it is this same desire that I share with other gay men.

We live vicariously through these amazing women, these icons, these beautiful creatures that speak for -- and through -- us. It is their beauty that we see in ourselves. It is our beauty that we see in them...

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The music that completes today's look is: whatever song makes you feel beautiful. Play it, listen to it, embrace it, feel beautiful.

Letting Go

I was sitting at a stop light yesterday, listening to a song that I've listened to many, many times in the past year -- "Let The Wind Chase You" by Trisha Yearwood. Whereas I am usually just singing along, rapt in Trisha's exquisite vocals, yesterday I actually stopped and listened -- really listened -- to the lyrics of the song. I was struck as I realized that this song seemed to sum up the way I was feeling last year just prior to the break up of my 12 year relationship.

During the last several years of our relationship, I realized that my ex and I had lost the ability to communicate our feelings to each other. Whether it was fear, pride, shame, or defiance, we just stopped telling each other what we needed and wanted. After 12 years I realized that we both had changed, too much it seemed. I was no longer the man that at my ex fell in love with. I was no longer the man he wanted, nor the man that he could ever love again the way he once did. I think it was that thought that initiated the conversation that led to the eventual break up of our 12 year relationship...

It is only now, listening to the lyrics of this beautiful song, that I realize what I was feeling at that time, and the way I was living that I was no longer willing to live:


Like a wildwood flower
Doesn’t have to reach for the sun
And when it needs a drop of water
It doesn’t have to ask the rain to come

I don’t wanna work for your love
I don’t wanna try to be
Something that you’re looking for
You’re never gonna find in me

So let the wind chase you
I can’t do it anymore
Let the road run after you
Like I always did before
Let the stars catch your eye
‘Cause I’ve tried and tried and tried
And I won’t do
So let the wind chase you

No one says a diamond ain’t precious
Just because it hasn’t yet been found
And no one blames the moon for not shining
Just because it’s hidden by a cloud

I don’t wanna blame myself
Thinking that I’m not enough
And wonder what’s wrong with me
Because I couldn’t win your love

So let the wind chase you
I can’t do it anymore
Let the road run after you
Like I always did before
Let the stars catch your eye
‘Cause I’ve tried and tried and tried
And I won’t do
So let the wind chase you

I don’t wanna work for your love
I don’t wanna try to be
Something that you’re looking for
You’re never gonna find in me

So let the wind chase you
I can’t do it anymore
Let the road run after you
Like I always did before
Let the stars catch your eye
‘Cause I’ve tried and tried and tried
And I won’t do
So let the wind chase you

Let the wind
Chase you

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The music that completes today's look is "Let The Wind Chase You" by Trisha Yearwood

To Become What I Became?

I used to be attracted to a certain type of man -- masculine and confident, with facial hair, a hairy chest, and a little bit of a rough side. Unfortunately, that type of man was not attracted to me. This perplexed me, as I was attractive, grounded, and an all around nice guy. I went to the bars where specimens of this type of man hung out, but I never got noticed, never got approached. Then someone told me, "To get what you want, you have to become what you want." This intrigued me, and being young enough to not have a real sense of who I was, I took this advice to heart. I changed my look from innocent college boy, to a more masculine, adult, sexy man. I changed my wardrobe. I changed my behavior. I changed the way I interacted with others when I visited the places where this type of man frequented. I had become a new man. The change was apparently more than I had realized, as a then recent ex questioned, "Wow, I was not your type at all, was I?"

The plan worked. I found myself having one night stands, dates, friendships and relationships with this type of man. I had become the man that I wanted, and this was what I attracted.

Time passed and I settled into a more relaxed version of the man I had become. I ended up in a long-term relationship with a man that embodied some of the characteristics that I had become used to, but ,in essence, was quite different, more "mainstream." I remained on this mainstream side of the fence for twelve years. When the relationship ended last year, I found myself in the unique situation of not having any real "type" that I was attracted to. I found that I was attracted to many different types, shapes, and looks of man. Recently, however, I have found myself looking at a particular type of man and saying to myself, "Wow..." Apparently I do have a type after all. Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, this type seems to be the one I had become all those years ago. And surprisingly -- or not so surprisingly -- that type of man is eluding me once again...

There is the thought that I could once again become what I became years ago. There are still traces of that man -- the masculinity and confidence, though the facial hair has disappeared. My dress has segued into a more sophisticated style, as I opt to shop at Banana Republic these days. However, it would be easy to move back into that old person I used to be -- a slight change in dress, attitude, venue, a few more days of stubble. After losing my identity during the twelve years of my last relationship, I am prime to become someone else while I am in the process of discovering who I truly am. So the question seems to be, do I once again become what I became in order to get what I want..?

I am now at an age where I view the world differently. My priorities have changed. My ideals and dreams, desires and needs are different than they were when I was younger. Even now, as I am trying to discover who I am as a person, I am more confident in who I am and what I want to be than when I was younger. I can see the value of being a whole person, devoid of semblance to anyone else but myself.

My main track of thinking now is, "Why should I change who I am to become something that I am not to attract a man?" Do I want to be in a relationship with someone who is not attracted to me as I am now? If I need to become someone else to be with the type of man I want, is that type of man really for me? If I compromise myself to be happy, am I really happy?

The decision seems obvious. But I find myself in the same predicament I found myself in all those years ago -- the type of man I am really attracted to, the type I want to be with, doesn't know I exist. I smile at him...I speak to him...I try to converse with him...I flirt with him...but nothing. So, where does that leave me? How do I get this type of man's attention without changing who I am? Do I relegate myself to another type and accept that that my desired type is not for me...?

I subscribe to the belief that everything happens for a reason. Because of this belief, I realize that the universe has its plan for me. It has lined up my next partner, and has chosen when and where we will meet. But waiting for the universe to work its magic can be a bitch. Sometimes I want to give it a nudge...

Perhaps I can give it a little nudge. Maybe there's a minor solution, one that doesn't require me to drastically alter myself. Maybe I could adjust my dress in subtle ways that are still keeping true to my own style. Instead of Sketchers, maybe I could wear boots. Always wanted a pair, maybe now's the time to buy. Maybe I could start going to a few of the bars that I've wanted to try anyway, bars where these men hang out. Maybe I can reach out through my network of friends to have them introduce me to men who are "my type."

So, maybe I can make this happen, while still remaining myself. Maybe I can make it happen by revealing deeper shades of me. I may even find that as I am discovering who I am as a person, that who I am embodies many of the qualities I admire and desire in others. I may not need to change anything. Those things may have been a part of me all the time. They just needed to be rediscovered.

So, I will continue my journey of self-discovery. I will discover what elements of myself, my look, my personality are truly who I am. When I find me, perhaps I won't need to look for my type. Maybe then he will find me...

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The music that completes today's look is "Only When I Lose Myself" by Depeche Mode.

Confluence

con-flu-ence: /ˈkɒnfluəns/ [kon-floo-uhns] -noun

1. a flowing together of two or more streams, rivers, or the like: the confluence of
the Missouri and Mississippi rivers.
2. their place of junction: St. Louis is at the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi
rivers.
3. a body of water formed by the flowing together of two or more streams, rivers, or the
like.
4. a coming together of people or things; concourse.
5. a crowd or throng; assemblage.

There is a small town at the very southern tip of Illinois, the confluence of the dark, muddy Mississippi and the pure, clear Ohio rivers. The town is called Cairo (pronounced Kay-row).

Cairo was once a thriving town, founded in 1837 as a perfect stop along the shipping routes of the Mississippi and Ohio rivers. It housed a U.S Customs House, one of only seven still in existence. During the Civil War, Cairo was a strategically important supply base and training center for the Union army. For several months General Ulysses S. Grant even had headquarters here. The town is surrounded by the most elaborate levee system in the United States. There is even a Congressional order that this town will never flood -- if flooding seems imminent, levees in towns south of Cairo must be blown, flooding those towns, rather than having Cairo be destroyed. Cairo seemed destined for prosperity.

But in the 1960's, the fate of the town took a swift turn. Cairo had a growing black population, though 100% of it's businesses were white owned. After the passing of the Civil Rights Act in 1964, the majority of white business owners refused to serve blacks. Those businesses that did follow the law and served blacks found their businesses quickly failing, as white customers refused to frequent them. In 1969, amid violent race riots and the boycotting of many white owned businesses by local blacks, white business owners closed their doors and moved out of Cairo, choosing to relocate rather than serve blacks. One by one, homes and businesses were abandoned, left open, as-is, to age and decay.

Today, Cairo is a ghost town. Where the population was once twenty-three thousand strong, it now hovers at a sad twenty-five hundred. Driving through the town is surreal, like being on the set of a war movie, or sci-fi film where the townsfolk have mysteriously disappeared -- "The Town That Time Forgot." On Millionaire's Row, the ruins of beautiful Victorian mansions lay dormant, crumbling, trees the new inhabitants of their stately rooms. Entire neighborhoods of turn-of-the-century bungalows are mere shells of their original glory. Cairo's main street, about a mile long, once lined with bustling department stores, beauty shops, diners, and clothes emporiums is now deserted. Some of the structures are still in tact, though their facades and innards have crushed and crumbled. Most of the buildings have succumbed to age and neglect, having simply given up and died. One such building has toppled into the street, but rather than clean it up, the town has, instead, decided to just block the street. The town has sat dormant for the past forty years.

Today, Cairo's population is 63% black. The average salary is 16,220.00 per year, with 33.5% of residents living under the poverty level.

It is ironic to me that Cairo is known as the Confluence of America, when it's own history seems to be the antithesis of the definition of confluence. Here is a city that was built on the idea of merging, melding and growth. Yet it's history shows segregation, separation, and decay. Even the rivers seem to tell the past: the muddy, dark Mississippi -- blacks -- and the pure, clear Ohio -- whites -- merge, but the Mississippi never mixes or flows into the waters of the Ohio. Massive levees protect a town that, for all intents and purposes, no longer exists. A Congressional order preserves a way of life that has disappeared.

Ride through Cairo and you will find a town that is ripe for revitalization. Homes can be purchased for a fraction of the standard cost. Businesses still stand, ready to be re-discovered. This is the stereotypical small town America. The people are some of the nicest you will find. They are personable, and perkier than the setting would suggest. They are proud of their home, despite it's history. I received a tour of the town by a member of Cairo's City Council. He drove me around, giving me insights into the town's once illustrious past. We visited the town library, an enormous, gorgeous architectural specimen, with a spectacular history of it's own. We visited the Customs House, previously a Federal Courthouse, now the town's museum. An elderly gentleman giddily took me through the myriad of displays that told the story of this town. His eyes gleamed as he told stories of not only Cairo's history, but of his remembrance of better times.

I was grateful for the chance to experience the way of life that is Cairo. I was glad to be able to experience some of the town's history, rather than leave with the thought that this town was sad and forgotten. I was delighted by it's citizens and actually look forward to returning.

Cairo makes you appreciate your own city. It makes you understand how far we as a nation have come, yet how far we have to go with accepting each other and our differences.

Will Cairo ever prosper again? Will Cairo ever be able to save itself? One can only hope.

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The music that completes today's look is "Revival" by Eurythmics.

Tornado vs. Oak

There I talk of a Tornado in Atlanta tonight. I capitalize the word Tornado to give it respect. You see, a Tornado almost took my life once, but be it the will of the universe, sheer luck, or the tornado changing it's mind and rolling elsewhere, I was spared. I was three years old. My mother and I had just returned home from a shopping trip with my grandmother and cousin (actually, he was my uncle, but since there was only a year between us, I called him my cousin). It was a beautiful, amazingly sunny day in rural Manning, South Carolina. I still remember how blue the sky was that day. The air silent, and calm. I can remember being happy...

My grandmother dropped us off at our mobile home, which was on the edge of a long dirt road which led up to the house owned by the people we rented from. The mobile home was surrounded by enormous, hundred year old oak trees, trees that used to both intimidate, and shade me as I played beneath them. We went inside as my grandmother, with my cousin in tow, drove off down the dirt road. Almost immediately after closing the door, my mother noticed how windy it had gotten. Huge streams of breeze were gusting into our open windows, blowing items from their usual resting places on side tables, counter tops, and night stands. We could feel the wind physically moving us as we were stumbling around our home. My mother instructed me to help her close the open windows. I ran into my bedroom, climbed up on my bed and began cranking the window shut. As I was closing the window, suddenly I found myself hanging from the handle. A few quick jolts, and a slam. Chaos... noise... screaming. We had no idea what was happening. My mother stumbled to me, grabbed me and we began to run out of our home. Swinging open the front door, we prepared to bolt down the stairs. We stopped dead in our tracks. Our stairs were no longer there. Looking out we could see that they still sat where they always had, yet we were about 50 feet away from them. The Tornado had picked up our home and wrapped it around a tree while we were inside. If not for the protection of those intimidating oak trees, we may have flown farther, maybe flown to our deaths. Oak...capitalized.

Still unclear what was happening, my mother grabbed me and we leapt from the mobile home onto the ground and ran furiously towards my grandmothers car, still in the driveway. We could see the car was rocking side-to-side, literally balancing on two wheels one way, then slamming down and lifting onto the other two wheels. Still we kept running. We were being pelted by baseball sized hail, but still we ran, believing in the safety that lie in my grandmothers station wagon. We jumped in the car, still dazed, crying. My grandmother hit the gas and we sped towards the garage my father worked at, a mere mile or two away. I can still remember crying, screaming that I wanted my pillow and my Matchbox cars. It's funny what comforts children value...

We pulled into my fathers workplace. I can still remember the big grin on my father's face as he saw us pulling in to pay him an unexpected visit. My mother was incoherently screaming out the window the events that had just occurred. He tried to comprehend. When he had finally grasped what she was saying, he laughed it off, thinking it a joke. Where he stood, there was not a cloud in the sky, the ground was dry, and the air was still. It was not until we drove him to the debris of what was our home that he believed. There, surrounded by fallen, mighty Oaks was the rubble that we used to call home...

So you see, I owe my life to that Tornado, or maybe to the Oak. Did the Oak fight furiously to hold onto our home and our lives, while the Tornado fought and fought to take us as a souvenir of its journey through Manning? Was there a terrible battle, each vying for victory, for the lives that each held in its hands? Did the Oak win? Did the Tornado admit defeat, or just give up and move on? I'm not sure I'll ever know, but respect is given regardless.

Tornado. Oak. Thank you.

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The music that completes today's look is"Blow Wind Blow" by Alison Moyet.

Pussy?

Sometimes I think I'm a pussy. Whether it be innate cowardice, years of emotional baggage, prior whacks to my self-esteem, or just nature, I cannot bring myself to go up and introduce myself to someone that I am interested in. I see a person across a room, often staring or smiling at me, and I just can't make a move. For years I have carried secret crushes on people and have been unable to start a conversation.

Even as I write this -- and the inspiration for today's blog -- I am sitting in Starbucks pining away for two guys. One, I have wanted to meet for at least ten years. The other, a more recent crush -- only the past four months. I should go up and introduce myself, but can't. Pathetic, huh?

I always describe myself as shy. This makes those that know me absolutely guffaw, as I am known to be a very outgoing, open, entertaining person. But when it comes to that initial contact, I clam up. Once someone talks to me, I am completely open and can carry on a conversation with the best of them. But unless someone else approaches me first, it just won't happen. Probably explains my dating life -- or lack thereof...

So what is the root of this inability to approach others? I think it could be traced back to a multitude of hurts and disappointments in my life. Could it be the abandonment I felt when my father disappeared from my life at age three? Never having a male role model to teach me confidence, strength, and go-gettedness I'm sure took its toll. I certainly wish I could've had the confidence my father was known for. He was a tall, masculine, good looking man who, from everything I've heard, could have any woman he wanted -- and basically did...

Could my apprehension come from the sexual abuse I suffered in my early teen years at the hands of a Catholic priest? Certainly my trust issues stem from the abuse -- hard to be a gay man when you have trouble trusting men. Certainly my ego was bruised, and my sense of self was destroyed during the years of secrets and hiding in the aftermath...

I wonder if it could be due to the basic insecurity I felt as a closeted gay boy in high school in a small South Carolina town. Unable to ever approach anyone for fear of being ridiculed, ostracized, outed or beaten, I lived a lonely existence in high school, almost reclusive, with only a few good friends. This pattern has extended into my adult life, as I have rarely had more than a few close knit friends, not wanting to cast the net of trust too wide.

It could be the hurt I've experienced at the hands of past boyfriends who decided, for one reason or another, that just having me was not enough and strayed into the arms of other men. This has certainly made me wary of relationships and, of course, only adds to the caution I give before extending trust.

Clearly I have good reason for not putting myself out there. But why can't I get over it? Friends say, "What's the worst thing that could happen? That someone rejects you?" Ummm...yeah. That's a pretty significant result in my book. Some people can let rejection roll off of them. My skin is too thin. Rejection seeps in and stirs around my body and mind, staying around a bit too long before rolling off.

So, what do I do? Just wait for other people to approach me? Do I try and go outside of my comfort zone and take the chance on acceptance/rejection? Could it be that easy, to let go of all of the past baggage and just allow myself to move forward? It sounds good in theory, but the reality is much more difficult. Maybe I should make a silent vow to approach the next guy that I find attractive... Maybe I should think of it as a work in progress and continue to work on the issues that have lingered from my past. Maybe I should accept that this is just a part of me and accept myself as I am, unable to make the initial reach out to another man...

UPDATE: Apparently writing this blog entry has been cathartic in some way. While I was writing, a very cute man walked by the window at Starbucks, headed to the gym. We exchanged glances. I've seen him before and wanted to say hello, but, well... So, I look up a few minutes ago and he was in Starbucks. Again we exchanged glances. He got his drink and sat not too far from me. After quite a few more glances and some smiles, I decided to myself, "You know what? You cannot let this happen again and let this one get away without even speaking." So I did. I struck up a conversation, and we chatted for a while until Starbucks closed. Walking out to our cars I asked if he'd like to go out. He said "Yes." I got his number and am, at this moment, on cloud nine.

Maybe all I needed was to challenge myself to break an old pattern. Time will tell. Looks like I'm off to a good start!

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The music that completes today's look is "I Remember You" by Eurythmics.

An Early Letter to Santa

I just returned from seeing a movie at the theater at Atlantic Station, here in Atlanta. Pulling into Atlantic Station, I noticed Christmas lights in all of the trees, red and white lighted snowflakes draped delicately across each street...

These holiday decorations were not here last weekend, so I became perplexed. It's too early for "Christmas in July." Were they filming a holiday movie here? I briefly pondered over other possible reasons. Then, without my knowing, my mind just drifted and accepted the fact that the decorations were there. I found myself smiling at the beauty of the lights, backed by the Atlanta skyline, the full moon -- the one that's been looming around for the past few days -- hanging in the crisp night sky. It was like Christmas all over again...

I came home after the movie, checked my email, and logged into Facebook. I had received one of the myriad of questionnaires that get sent out by friends. This one was titled "My Personal Bucket List," a random list of things to do and places to visit. You are supposed to check the ones that pertain to you, and forward it on to other friends. Reading the list made me think of things that I've done and things that I want to do. It made me think about what I want to eventually come my way. It made me think about love, and what I am missing in that area. So, I thought it might be time to write an early letter to Santa.

"Dear Santa,

So much has happened in the last few years. I have been lost, afraid, endeared, lonely, alone, ecstatic, content, independent, elated and reborn. I have run a gamut of experiences and emotions, and am ready to find my center, find my happiness, find myself, and find my soulmate. I am actively working on the first three and am making great strides, but it is the last one Santa that I need your help with. I have always said that I think that people do not find what they truly want in a relationship because they do not know what they want. They do not allow themselves to think about what they want, accept what they want, and voice what they want. So, I am taking that step to say what it is that I want and am hoping to find in a mate...

I want someone who loves me. Truly, unconditionally, and wholeheartedly, loves me. But this love does not overshadow our own selves. We come together as two separate, happy, well adjusted, whole people, who form a life together, but never lose who we are as individuals.

I want someone who wants to see me every minute of the day, but is able to function without me -- goes to work, to the gym, hangs with friends, spends time alone, betters himself, but then comes home to me. I want this man to want the same for me.

I want someone who laughs at my stories and jokes, and never gets tired of listening to me talk, even if they've heard the story before.

I want to be heard.

I want someone to hold me, just because. To hold my hand while we're watching TV, kiss my belly button, and caress my skin. I want to catch him looking deep into my eyes in a way that I know that he is looking only at me. I want him to kiss me in public, and to be happy enough that he is with me that he wants the world to know it.

I want someone who can just chill at home, watching TV, cooking a meal, talking to each other, or just being quiet together. He should be able to dress up for a night on the town, or dress down for a casual weekend outdoors, housework, shopping, or...nothing.

I want someone who wants me...desires me. Someone who loves to look at and caress my body, imperfections and all. I want to be made to feel sexy...

I want someone to make me want to be a better person, someone who goes out of their way to treat others well, and lends a helping hand when there is a need. Someone who does things for the betterment of the world, without caring if anyone ever sees them doing it.

I want someone who never holds me back from attaining the goals that I have in life, wanting, instead, to share them with me.

I want someone who wants me to be me, whomever I decide that "me" should be.

He should want to meet my family and friends, and should accept that they are a part of my life, and share in the joy that they bring to me.

He should not play games, not have an over inflated ego, and should have a nice sense of humor. He should be honest and monogamous. He should be confident and accepting of himself, flaws and all. He should be himself and not camouflage any part of himself in the desire to hide things he might think others would judge or disapprove of. He should know who he is and what he wants out of life.

He should want to build a life for the two of us where love and warmth abound, where there is always room for both the collective "us" and the independent "us."

I want someone who wants me to love him.

And, I want someone who wants all of these things for himself.

I have a lot to offer someone Santa, as I'm sure you know. I am a good, kind, witty, romantic person, who is full of life and loves to make others smile. I am talented, and have defined goals and pursuits that I want to achieve. I just need your help, Santa, in putting these thoughts out to the universe, so that it can align the stars to help me meet my Mr. Right, whether it be be next week, next year, or even someone that I have already met.

I know you can do it, Santa. I have faith. I will work on making myself ready for Mr. Right when he comes. You just work on helping him to find me.

Thanks for your help.

Sincerely,

Me"

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The music that completes today's look is "Say You Love Me" by Jennifer Holliday.