I'm a bit in love these days.  I say "a bit" because it's new.  Really new.  In fact, it's too new to say, "I'm in love."  But there you have it.  I'm a quandary to myself. 

He's a beautiful man.  Quiet.  Calm.  Honorable. Decent.  He's a genuine mensch and most amazing to me, the guy is a former Green Beret. 

How does a Buddhist end up with a guy who served for the U.S. military? 

Another quandry. 

But here's the deal.  I finally feel safe in the company of a man who knows how to behave like a gentleman.  He has discipline.  He makes sure I'm okay.  He looks out for me and is protective of me and that feels very odd.  I'm all out of sorts around this kind of care.  I'm suspicious.  

In all of my life, I've never had a guy like this guy.  Not since my own father, who died when I was nine.  And that father didn't really look out for me.  Not really.  He was in his head, he was busy, he had other things on his mind--money, debt, responsibility.  He was a good guy.  He was just a busy guy. 

On the day my dad died, I knew it was up to one person.  Me.  I was on my own.  Alone.  It was the world against Jennifer and in a lot of ways, it's been true.  Or I've made it true.  39 years is a long time to be at war with a dangerous world, never feeling safe--even in my own home.  I have paired myself up with guys who have been less than decent to me, who have felt unsafe, who argue, who are insecure and competitive and manipulative.  I was with these people because they felt familiar to me.  I was better with an enemy close by--that way I could always move on.

Being Jennifer is like being homelss all the time.  Even though I'm not on the streets.  I am on the streets inside. 

The difference between a homeless person and me?  I don't hold out my hand or ask for help or even accept help when it's offered.  Until now. 

Until this guy who I let myself be "a bit" in love with and who am I kidding?  I am far beyond "a bit."  I've over the top.

And all of this is what I think about--the being in love and the guy and the way I've lived inside, at war with myself and the world--when I spot Damian at the corner with his dog.

Talk about tattoos.  Damian has taken it beyond tear drops.  He's all tattoos everywhere I can see and I stop with my internal drama when I see him.  I dig into my purse and I cross the street.  I'm ready and he takes my money and we talk.  We really talk. 

I get his name, his dog's name (which I have forgotten) and I get his story too.  He's with his brother, they are on their way to South Dakota for the beet harvest, they need some form of ID for travel and that's it.  They are gone.  He talks and nods while he talks and I can tell he's worried.  He's in his head making his plans and he says his dog has been with them all along.  The dog is a good friend.  Damian and his brother, yes, they are leaving town soon and they are taking the dog with the name I forgot.

That dog was not remotely interested in me.  That dog was on its back, all spread eagle, tummy up for what looked like a long tummy rub of his happy life. 

"Can I take your photo?" I ask.

Damian doesn't even hesitate.  He doesn't even flinch.  He's like, "sure, man, no problem."

I'd be like, "what the fu#$?  Why do you want my photo?"  I'd be full of attitude but he's not.  He's so chill relaxed, I'm amazed. 

The surrender of this kid. 
The presence. 
The humanity. 

He's just here asking for a little help. 

Where does his courage come from? 

I wish I asked him because I feel like I could use some of his guts for being vulnerable and depending on the kindness of others.  I want to feel what he feels--safe enough to ask for a little help and to take it when it's offered.