Poly Nirvana

Love, Life and Rational Polyamory



Oh my.

So, here’s the thing.  I’m sitting in the living room of Special Man’s wife’s boyfriend.  I suppose he’s not technically a metamour, he’s a metamour-in-law…or a meta once removed?  Metamour squared?  I don’t know, but MSquared fits him, so just roll with it.  MSquared’s wife is also here, as is Special Man’s adult-ish son.  And some other people who aren’t particularly important to the story.


The reason I’m live blogging right now in the midst of all these people, is that I am smack dab right in the middle of a Dungeons & Dragons game.  Or campaign.  (Or something.)  I am pleasantly bored, listening to this game unfold, and I’m also confused.  I’m an outsider, looking into something that is obviously entertaining and fun for this group, and makes absolutely no sense to me.  In fact, I’m pretty sure you’d have to pay me at least a hundred dollars per minute to play this game, which would be an awful lot of money, because these games go a very, very long time.  Hours, in fact.  And they do it every Sunday night.

I wish I had some well-thought out poly analogy that I could wisely craft here, but I’ve got nothing.

Except this:  Isn’t it wonderful that there are so many different people to love, and different things to do in the world?

Now give me another glass of wine.

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So I mentioned a few days ago that my sweet friend was having a crisis.

In a nutshell, this beautiful, smart, professional and wise woman found out quite suddenly that her husband of many years was not only using cocaine, but was dealing. And her adult children knew. Her disbelief upon discovering that her two grown boys had known, was further compounded when they both told her that her husband had been so casual about it, so open with it, that they never imagined that she hadn’t known. They were astounded that she could have been so oblivious.

This has weighed heavily on my mind these past few days. How is it that some things that are so apparent to others, can be completely out of our personal realm of reality? Is it simply a matter of perspective? Perhaps we soothe our minds into holding ourselves and our lives together, by turning a blind eye, not asking too many questions, not allowing ourselves to really see.

What am I missing, and do I really want to see it?

Lately I have this feeling like something is shifting, and it’s right there, but I can’t see it. Almost like the sensation of a word being right on the tip of your tongue, but not being able to find it in your brain. I am wondering if it is something that I am afraid to see, afraid to embrace. Change is painful, even good change. Anything that is different, can be uncomfortable, and I resist being uncomfortable.

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 “Red”, I write “is the color of life. It’s blood, passion, rage. It’s menstrual flow and after birth. Beginnings and violent end. Red is the color of love. Beating hearts and hungry lips. Roses, Valentines, cherries. Red is the color of shame. Crimson cheeks and spilled blood. Broken hearts, opened veins.” ~ Mary Hogan, Pretty Face

I bought a new red bag tonight.  I was on my way home from Meta’s birthday dinner, and I felt good.  I felt comfortable, and I felt content.  I found myself happy, and I wanted to celebrate by finding myself something new and pretty.  It’s silly, but a red bag is far from practical, and allowing myself that small pleasure felt indulgent and well, maybe a little naughty.  Like I should be at the grocery store buying milk and eggs. Maybe toilet paper.  You know, practical stuff.

Polyamory is hard, and if anyone tells you otherwise, please send them my way so that they can teach me their magic.  It takes commitment,  it takes effort, it takes intention.  And even if you are doing your absolute best, with every ounce of your being, it may still be hard.  We don’t grow up knowing the rules for social interaction with our important person’s OTHER important person.  We don’t grow up seeing examples of metamour relations that are healthy.  Hell, many of us don’t even see healthy relationships in our families of origin.

What I realized tonight, is that Meta and I keep trying.  We are both committed.  We didn’t choose each other, but we are linked, and I really really like that.  Our relationship has gone through many phases: non-existent, polite, tolerable, uncomfortable, even hateful.  (Hey, this is the real poly.  And poly is hard. I’m not ever going to sugar coat it.)  Tonight I walked away from dinner feeling the best I’ve probably ever felt after spending time with my little poly collective.  I wasn’t overanalyzing myself, or anyone else.  I felt good.  I felt happy, and I felt proud of all of us for still being here, and for still trying.

So the red bag is mine.  It’s a celebration of effort and intention.   I looked around tonight at a collection of people I hold up as family, and it was an amazing feeling.

I like my life.



So I decided to do something very big and brave last month.

I submitted class proposals as a presenter, for a new national poly conference that is taking place in November.

I did it as an exercise in facing fears, and in seeking out things that I want but might feel outside of my comfort zone.  I almost fell over when I was asked to present.  Maybe I shouldn’t admit that, but I’m not a girl who has any kind of swagger or game, and I’m both incredibly excited and slightly nauseous when I think about it.  Mostly excited.  (I don’t think I’ll actually throw up.)  I’m speaking on things that I’m passionate about, and I’m thrilled to be able to have the chance to absorb the energy of a group of proactive, open-minded and loving poly community.

I hadn’t mentioned a word about this to Special Man until after I committed to be there.  He looked at me like I was joking when I told him about it.  “Why couldn’t it be in Hawaii?” he said.   I asked him if there was a chance he could take some time off of work and travel with me to the conference, thinking that it would be difficult for him to do so, but it turns out that he’s coming with me and is really looking forward to the whole event.  Neither one of us have been to Ohio before, and I think there’s going to be some incredible information shared, and I’m happily bouncing in my seat thinking about meeting all sorts of fantastic new people.

What strikes me about this conference is that it appears to be amazingly well organized, and downright fun.  The producers are experienced and enthusiastic, and I love the interactive emphasis on the entire weekend.

For more information head on over to http://www.beyondthelove.org and poke around a little.  Let me know what you think, and if you are coming, I definitely want to know so I can look for you!

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My girls’ weekend in Oregon, which was slated to start today, was necessarily canceled due to a darling friend’s family crisis.  I am worried about her, I am worried for her.

I am also pouting a little bit.  I was so looking forward to exploring Portland.  Wandering and discovering is one of my favorite things.  I had an art museum, and a giant bookstore on my must do list, along with a coffee date, but other than that, I was determined to soak up all the unplanned people and places I could find.  So I’m just a touch melancholy as I start my weekend.

I suppose I could go explore my very own city, but it’s entirely too easy to look around my house, and see all the things that need to be done. I may be able to spend some unplanned time with my guy, but even that is up in the air, due to his work and other obligations.  Maybe I’ll be productive today, and give myself Saturday for some solo girl-time.






“You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book… or you take a trip… and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken.”

~ Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

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Ten years ago today, a small boy was born, and I was his mother.

When he was twelve days old, I packed him into a baby sling, and took him with me to my orientation for nursing school. I had gotten into a very competitive program, and I wasn’t going to lose my spot. I don’t know exactly why or how exactly, at that moment in my life, I had gotten a vision of a life outside of being a stay at home mom; whose desire to work outside of the home truly was at odds with everything I had been taught. In my world, being a mother and raising spirits up in the true gospel was the best, most sacred and holy calling a woman could have. And suddenly it wasn’t enough for me any more.

I hadn’t left my faith at that point, and I hadn’t left my bad marriage. I simply knew I needed something more. Something more for me, and more for my children.

This morning I was standing in the laundry room, folding clothes. As I picked up each boys t-shirt, and each pair of shorts, I thought, “This is mine”, and “I gave this to my child.” Me. I’m the provider. I made my own way, and while it’s not ever easy to be a single parent, I have worked hard to give myself and my kidlets something different than I had growing up. I want them to see that I wasn’t a victim, and that I stood up and made a choice. I want them to know that they have the power to decide what their lives will look like, and that they don’t have to settle for what is presented to them. They can find their own way, and their own happiness.

I’m a huge fan of education, and of financial autonomy. Money is the tipping point, and education is the stepping stone. Yes there are many ways to make a living without higher education. But the security of my nursing license, gave me the courage to be alone in the world, and to know that I could take care of myself and my family. That choice, ten years ago, to start school, even with a twelve day old baby, was an absolute fork in the proverbial road. My life looks completely different than it did then, and all I can do is be grateful that I had that chance, at that point in time.

So Happy Birthday to my son, who is a bright spot in my day, every day. He is smart and energetic, and beautiful. He sees things that I do not, and his eyes sparkle when he tells me about them. I am happy, and I am blessed.