The Tale of Of and Soulmate7poet

The pocketbook "Of" notebook

The pocketbook “Of” notebook

Sometimes, you allow yourself to shortchange yourself. For me, I feel as if I was at a place in my life where I was understanding of the world, open to all possibilities, more in touch with who I was and how I felt about things…my emotions, my passion for life, my pull for love.

I was often nose deep in a spiral bound five subject notebook. Scribbled with random thoughts and un-rhyming poems. Pictures cut from magazines, copied from books (on the copying machine!) and quotes jotted down from lines in movies.

I recently came across this notebook…at a time when I was surely MEANT to find it.

The green 5 subject spiral bound notebook

THE 5 subject notebook

Inside the notebook’s cover

One of the subject pockets

I have been many things in my life. The Wendy who felt the need to succeed financially, to make my parents proud sort of overtook the Wendy who was on the path to happiness through enlightenment.

I’m not speaking of a sort of enlightenment that is religious. Spiritual, maybe…but not religious.

I’m talking of the level of understanding of MYSELF that I seemed to have a firm grasp on all through the last few years of high school, and the first two years of college.

I was constantly an introvert, drowned with grand ideas of passion and love from the one I deemed “my soulmate.”

Now, I have found that love that I dreamed of. That I wrote about and stared at flickering candles at night beside me, zoning out into a perfect little happy world of love and emotion, with no fears or desires. All of my needs were met through one person in my poetry. I often wondered while writing this prose, these random, quirky notes to myself….”Is a love like this possible?”

I remember watching the movie, “What Dreams may Come” in college. I wept. I remember opening that teal green 5 subject notebook, putting pen to paper, and POURING my energy and emotions onto the page. This memory is still vivid for me. How could someone love another SO much? Why doesn’t anyone love ME like that??? These are some of the thoughts and transgressions that went through my head during that growing moment in my youth.

Why did I stop writing these poems? These little paragraphs of thoughts?

What happened in my life to cause the notebook to be less important to me?

Thankfully, I have hung onto it for all of these years.

Today, I flipped through it. Memories of EXACTLY how I felt while writing some of the text in the notebooks started to curl out of the page and grab me. Others…I don’t remember where I was or who I was writing about. Some were coded with the initials of the one who inspired the little poetic rant. “BP, JM, JS, CP, TP, DD, JV…..” Yes, I remember the guy that all of those initials stood for. Amazing! After over ten years…I still remember my teenage and early 20’s code-age.

Inside the pockets of the five subject notebook, I found AOL Instant Messenger messages that I had shared with the male poets and writers in my life.  I seemed to collect them.  One was stationed in the Navy, I believe.  Another, I pictured as a scrawny little kid with glasses and blue eyes (my dream guy at the time).  We never met in person.  We used to AOL message each other on a regular basis, until, eventually, the technology was gone, surpassed, and lost.  We seemed to have agreed that our time spent together was meant for the AOL days.  Not for the Email, forum or Facebook days.  These people entered and exited my life and I didn’t feel a loss…until I came across their words.  There were a few, however, who I exchanged emails with after the crash of the AOL fail.  We would email less…and less…..and then no more.

This afternoon, I felt this overwhelming urge to pull out those notebooks and write.  It sparked the typing of this blog.  Not a green spiral bound notebook anymore, but still full of subjects.

I should publicly add here…I am in love with my husband on so many levels that it is hard for me to describe in words.  We have grown together.  We compliment each other.  We can feed off of each other’s energy (good or bad).  We have the same dreams, hopes, aspirations and fears.  We are alike, but not the same.  We are soulmates.

This blog is not meant to come across as a cry for the past virtual men in my life.  I don’t feel a loss over past chances at romance, or anything like that.  This blog is more a cry for the Wendy that these virtual men knew.  The one who would sit for hours and “chat” about our anguish in not being able to find our own soulmates.  We knew, you see…that we were not each others soulmate.  We knew that we would never become anything other than Sqrldanca or benagain.  Nothing more than a screen name popping up in blue or red.

Blue and Red

We respected each others need for lying our thoughts and feelings out there to a member of the opposite sex, without flirting or trying to “hook up” or make anything come out of our relationships other than just a chat among a man and a woman.  I find this fairly uncommon now.

Rich, the Navy boy…an email.

It’s amazing to look back on this notebook, these people that I interacted with in my youth…and still feel respect for them.  I still value their interaction because we didn’t meet and be in each others physical presence.  We knew, somehow, that it would make things different.  We might actually be attracted to each other, and then our friendly relationship of sharing TRUE thoughts and emotions would cause us to act differently toward one another until eventually we would not feel comfortable feeling true in our words any longer.  We would have to clear the air of that sexual tension, and it would be awkward, and we were both not willing to deal with that.  We were all on the path of our own self exploration.

This path is the one that I have missed.  Finally, though…I have found the trail that leads back to it.


The description of a past me


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