The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.
Feeling Extra-alive
Bike rides for the first time in a decade ... treadmilling with Pat this morning ... learning of -- and seeing -- this striking couple of pioneers earlier this week ... reading a magnetic novel ... seeing a post by a Facebook friend, expressing gratitude for her "cute nurses" as she convalesced from donating a kidney ... considering swimming outdoors tomorrow when I'm in Phoenix for work ... the unseasonably warm weather in New Jersey during this mid-November ... all of these experiences and possibilities are giving me Fall Fever.
Typically, Spring Fever is when I notice the same sex more than usual and remember that although Pat[ricia] & I are loyal and monogamous to each other, going on nearly 24 years so far, and with no plans to change our supremely faithful status, there are times -- usually in springtime -- when I feel surrounded by a museum show of women who remind me why I identify first of all as lesbian.
Showing posts with label desire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label desire. Show all posts
Sunday, November 8, 2015
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Channeling Desire in a New Direction
The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.
When Did My Desire to Leave a Legacy Trump More Conventional Desire?
Six years ago over dinner, I told a friend, Desire is the engine that fuels my creativity. He said he understood and that it was basically what Theologian Paul Tillich said. (Just found the original blog post about our evening and am reminded that I was moved to my confession by a stunning woman sitting near us in the restaurant, whom I didn't notice till my friend went to the men's room and my view of her was no longer obscured.)
Yesterday, as Pat & I met with a male couple of friends, much of our discussion centered on the meaning we felt from the work we were doing. With the product that one of the men is going to launch in June, I said, "You could become ultra-rich while doing a lot of good," since the invention will help health care providers. And the work I'm doing also feels right, including my current project around helping IBMers understand all that IBM Watson can do for the world. And certainly Pat's work with building a bee sanctuary should contribute to saving our planet, and ultimately, the literature that one of the couple writes enriches our understanding of humanity.
When did that happen? When did my attention to my life's work trump my alertness to female beauty around me? Maybe it hasn't trumped it, but now, it's actively paralleling it. Recently, I was speaking with a younger colleague at work whose current dilemma is whether or not to aspire to a more senior role or to focus on family. "Each of us," I said, "has such a personal story around why we do what we do at work. In my case, I aspire to a more senior role because I feel like I want to leave a legacy of helping a huge group of people learn, since I don't have kids through whom I can leave a legacy."
A Sense of History Mashed Up with Survivor's Guilt -- Powerfully Motivating
Perhaps I'm feeling especially reflective because the longer I'm alive, the more time has passed during which I can notice my own and history's progress. Earlier in the week, a former colleague sent me an invitation to celebrate the 20th anniversary of ibm.com. Twenty years! And I've been around for 19 of them. We launched ibm.com/globalservices in 1995 (which IBM since sold to AT&T) and I worked on ibm.com/software and associated microsites, and then ibm.com/shop -- when we sold ThinkPads -- through May of 2001. I remember being much younger, and being spoken of around IBM as the GenXers, the way some talk about Millennials now.
Twenty years ago, we were also in earlier days of corporate activism around lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) inclusion. And they were heady times because there was so much progress to make. These days, we channel our energy into helping our peers in less LGBT-friendly countries around the world to have positive experiences ultimately. Still, in my self-absorbed experience, it's not the same to help others as it is to feel the benefits directly. Yesterday during our diner-meal, one of our friends said, "Who would have predicted the sea change in our favor over just the past couple of years?"
"Yeah, 19 years ago, during my work on ibm.com," I said," Everyone knew about Pat, but who would have imagined we'd ever be legally married?"
In this morning's NYT, I read Frank Bruni's tribute to Larry Kramer and felt a bit chagrined that I haven't been as dogged as Larry Kramer has been all these years about working for our equality. After all, I did not die of AIDS or breast cancer (k'ayn ayin harah) like too many in our community. And then it's also Yom HaShoah Eve today, which commemorates the loss of ~6,000,000 Jews in the Holocaust. The coincidence of the holiday occurring during this period of self-reflection on desire and purpose only accentuates my drive to channel my desire into leaving a meaningful legacy.
Yesterday, a close relative told me, "You're the best person I know." I hope she turns out to be right. Probably, at this stage, at least as much as being alert to beauty around me, that's my most ardent desire -- to be and do good, the effect of which lasts beyond my life.
Total Honesty
After stepping away for a moment, I was reminded of what would make this blog post as honest as it can be: It is true that the longer I'm alive, the more urgency I feel to do lastingly, meaningful work in the world *and* it's also true that part of my decreasing alertness to the female beauty around me is that the longer I'm alive, the less visible I feel as anyone's object of desire in return. With meaningful work, where others are involved, there's at least the potential for healthy, mutual appreciation. By contrast, being intentionally monogamous with Pat for all of our nearly 23 years together, even with the more and more remote chance that someone would appreciate me aesthetically in return, such appreciation wouldn't necessarily be productive.
Why write aloud about this last bit? Why? Because it's honest. Spring is in the air, which is when my mind is most inclined to turn to conventional desire more so than at less bloom-filled times of year. What's surprising about this spring, I think, is that it's the first one where my desire to do good work so powerfully parallels my usual desires.
I'm reminded of getting the newspapers from the driveway this morning. One of our female neighbors is openly lesbian and also in her mid-late 70s. When I walked out of our house in my purple terry-cloth bathrobe to get the papers, she was sitting in her driveway, apparently waiting for her Dial-a-Ride service for Seniors to pick her up for church. I've never walked out at that time before, never before bumped into her in my bathrobe. I waved to her and we called out Good morning to each other. I walked back in the house, flattering myself that she might have been alert to my relative youth. I suppose this is hopeful, as maybe when I'm her age and noticing younger lesbians, they'll give me the benefit of the doubt about still being observant and fully alive.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
It Was a Shame...
The postings on this site are my own and don’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions, strategies or opinions.
...but Needn't Be Any Longer
Recently, pre-sleep, I couldn't put down the "New Yorker" article on Tyler Clementi. Even as I felt voyeuristic, reading his various tweets and status updates, and those of his college-roommate Dharun Ravi, included in the piece, I still read on, hoping to confirm the complete rationale for Tyler's suicide. I have to believe it was shame and maybe just a bit too much fragility that caused Tyler to throw himself to his death, off the George Washington Bridge, after Dharun filmed Tyler via his webcam, making out with a man. The article didn't theorize, just reported sad interchanges and facts leading up to it.
To my knowledge, no one ever has ever filmed me, making out with anyone. Still, I have film-clips in my head from my pre-teens to age 20, of fantasies of such scenes, and in one case, of a fizzled kiss. To this day, a number of these scenes cause me shame about my shame, recalling how they wrecked a series of dear friendships due to my embarrassment about them. Fortunately, neither sort of shame has caused me to succeed at, or even attempt, suicide, but they still have the power to bring me to tears as a middle-aged adult, when I think of my vulnerable young self and compare her to the grown-up self who nonetheless still feels a bit vulnerable at the memories. Probably, I've detailed a number of the scenes in previous posts over the years --
Let Me Start Over
Freshman year of high school, 7 months prior...
Do you remember your first experience of unrequited desire? I'm not asking if you remember your first experience of desire. Unrequited is the key word here.
Mine was with a best friend when we were 15. We lay in bathing suits on beach-towels on the wooden deck attached to the back of her family's home. We were nurturing our tans and sucking on ice to keep the heat at bay.
My friend asked me to get some more ice from the kitchen behind us. I sat up and looked over at her, lying on her back, eyes shut against the sun. She had a ballerina's body, full of grace, even while prone, and long chestnut hair tucked over behind one shoulder, calling attention to her swan-length neck. I leaned over, causing a shadow, and kissed her lips quickly. She opened her light-green eyes and looked at me questioningly -- not meanly, and also not encouragingly. I jumped up and bounded for the kitchen, bringing back more ice. We pretended it never happened. I wanted to die, but simply lay back down next to her and closed my eyes for more sun-bathing.
When sophomore year began, we saw less of each other and by the time my dad died during my senior year, we had all but drifted apart. At my father's funeral, my tears were paralyzed. I couldn't grieve visibly. My friend and her mother came over for the shivah and we sat side-by-side on the dark-plum rug in my room, leaning against my bed, trying to act natural, because my father was dead, and also, I was convinced, because she felt nervous around me because of the sun-bathing incident.
I didn't get up to walk her out and simply watched her leave my room. As the door shut, I flopped onto the rug and lay there soaking it with my tears. Finally, I could grieve the loss of my dad, and especially at that moment, the loss of my friend's and my innocent friendship.
Fast forward to yesterday, after lots of grown-up experiences: Five of her kids later, and after residences in Chicago, London, Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Bangalore and Montclair between us with our male and female spouses respectively, and in the midst of successful careers, we were together again for the first time in a decade, which is when she last visited the United States.
"I never thought we drifted because of that [-- the kiss]," she said. "I didn't think about that."
"You didn't think about it?" After it happened, it's practically all I thought about, mostly from shame.
"No. I thought that most of all, college was when we had a hard time keeping the friendship going, since we were far away from each other."
All the wasted shame! If I had committed suicide from the shame I felt at the time from my experience with this friend and a couple of others who I fantasized about, I'd never have had the poignant reunions as adults, not to mention, my lovely wife and life. What wouldn't have happened had I not stuck around? I wouldn't have helped other lesbian, gay, bi and transpeople among my community, clients and global company. I wouldn't have found Pat with whom I've had a rich time, including our adopting two feline daughters. I wouldn't have helped our company's leaders to be more effective. I wouldn't have been a comfort to my mom in her old age and who knows what else?
Last summer, reading while tanning my shoulders in prep for my wedding
Makes me want to say the "Shehecheyanu" - the prayer that thanks God for enabling us to reach this occasion:
בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ
Blessed are You, L-rd
אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הַעוֹלָם
our G-d, Ruler of the Universe,
שֶׁהֶחֱיָנוּ וְקִיְּמָנוּ
who has granted us life, sustained us
וְהִגִּיעָנוּ לַזְּמַן הַזֶּה׃
and enabled us to reach this occasion.
Amen.
...but Needn't Be Any Longer
Recently, pre-sleep, I couldn't put down the "New Yorker" article on Tyler Clementi. Even as I felt voyeuristic, reading his various tweets and status updates, and those of his college-roommate Dharun Ravi, included in the piece, I still read on, hoping to confirm the complete rationale for Tyler's suicide. I have to believe it was shame and maybe just a bit too much fragility that caused Tyler to throw himself to his death, off the George Washington Bridge, after Dharun filmed Tyler via his webcam, making out with a man. The article didn't theorize, just reported sad interchanges and facts leading up to it.
To my knowledge, no one ever has ever filmed me, making out with anyone. Still, I have film-clips in my head from my pre-teens to age 20, of fantasies of such scenes, and in one case, of a fizzled kiss. To this day, a number of these scenes cause me shame about my shame, recalling how they wrecked a series of dear friendships due to my embarrassment about them. Fortunately, neither sort of shame has caused me to succeed at, or even attempt, suicide, but they still have the power to bring me to tears as a middle-aged adult, when I think of my vulnerable young self and compare her to the grown-up self who nonetheless still feels a bit vulnerable at the memories. Probably, I've detailed a number of the scenes in previous posts over the years --
Let Me Start Over
Do you remember your first experience of unrequited desire? I'm not asking if you remember your first experience of desire. Unrequited is the key word here.
Mine was with a best friend when we were 15. We lay in bathing suits on beach-towels on the wooden deck attached to the back of her family's home. We were nurturing our tans and sucking on ice to keep the heat at bay.
My friend asked me to get some more ice from the kitchen behind us. I sat up and looked over at her, lying on her back, eyes shut against the sun. She had a ballerina's body, full of grace, even while prone, and long chestnut hair tucked over behind one shoulder, calling attention to her swan-length neck. I leaned over, causing a shadow, and kissed her lips quickly. She opened her light-green eyes and looked at me questioningly -- not meanly, and also not encouragingly. I jumped up and bounded for the kitchen, bringing back more ice. We pretended it never happened. I wanted to die, but simply lay back down next to her and closed my eyes for more sun-bathing.
When sophomore year began, we saw less of each other and by the time my dad died during my senior year, we had all but drifted apart. At my father's funeral, my tears were paralyzed. I couldn't grieve visibly. My friend and her mother came over for the shivah and we sat side-by-side on the dark-plum rug in my room, leaning against my bed, trying to act natural, because my father was dead, and also, I was convinced, because she felt nervous around me because of the sun-bathing incident.
I didn't get up to walk her out and simply watched her leave my room. As the door shut, I flopped onto the rug and lay there soaking it with my tears. Finally, I could grieve the loss of my dad, and especially at that moment, the loss of my friend's and my innocent friendship.
Fast forward to yesterday, after lots of grown-up experiences: Five of her kids later, and after residences in Chicago, London, Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Bangalore and Montclair between us with our male and female spouses respectively, and in the midst of successful careers, we were together again for the first time in a decade, which is when she last visited the United States.
"I never thought we drifted because of that [-- the kiss]," she said. "I didn't think about that."
"You didn't think about it?" After it happened, it's practically all I thought about, mostly from shame.
"No. I thought that most of all, college was when we had a hard time keeping the friendship going, since we were far away from each other."
All the wasted shame! If I had committed suicide from the shame I felt at the time from my experience with this friend and a couple of others who I fantasized about, I'd never have had the poignant reunions as adults, not to mention, my lovely wife and life. What wouldn't have happened had I not stuck around? I wouldn't have helped other lesbian, gay, bi and transpeople among my community, clients and global company. I wouldn't have found Pat with whom I've had a rich time, including our adopting two feline daughters. I wouldn't have helped our company's leaders to be more effective. I wouldn't have been a comfort to my mom in her old age and who knows what else?
Makes me want to say the "Shehecheyanu" - the prayer that thanks God for enabling us to reach this occasion:
בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ
Blessed are You, L-rd
אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הַעוֹלָם
our G-d, Ruler of the Universe,
שֶׁהֶחֱיָנוּ וְקִיְּמָנוּ
who has granted us life, sustained us
וְהִגִּיעָנוּ לַזְּמַן הַזֶּה׃
and enabled us to reach this occasion.
Amen.
Friday, October 8, 2010
The Crash
The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.
Bon Vie & Mr. Lonely
Too many beautiful women, too little exercise, too much humanity, not enough. My finger-nails need attention; sleep is calling. So is packing.
Missing Chely Wright 'cause I didn't plan it right. I'll be boarding my plane as she stands before everyone else at the convention center.
Logo'ed lanyards, free lip-balm as a promo, if only I'd known and not bought it from the hotel gift-shop.
New friend, who's fluent in Thai....I experimented today and wore a tie; got everything from, "You look beautiful," to "Hi, Gorgeous! Are you turning transgender?"
Should have responded, "Aren't we all?" Instead: "Who knows, and if I can't wear this here, where can I?"
Learned the most about myself when opting to enter the gender-neutral bathroom for the first time at the conference and being reminded of the first time I entered a lesbian bar in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Who saw me?
Only this time, do they think I'm trans? Instant shame about worrying what they thought.
Such a contrast to the Facebook note I received earlier tonight from the little sister of a junior-high-school classmate, David. She posted a photo of me, dancing with David at his twin brother's and his bar mitzvah.
Really was hoping to dance tonight with my people. Shake off that struggling new teenage self -- and also, embrace the essential sweetness of who I was then.
Instead, ended the night, feeling desirous and thwarted and ashamed and sad and wistful and unfinished and off-kilter and not powerful like I did during the day, when I wore my dad's (z"l) tie.
Who wants to go for a drink? Not me. I wanted to go dancing.
Only, I wanted it to be like it was in Austin -- dancing right outside the banquet hall -- no special effort required. And then there wasn't convenient dancing, and it was anti-climactic, big-time.
I am touch-starved and can't wait to pet Pat and the kitties. I'm very lonesome.
Played Bobby Vinton's "Mister Lonely" on YouTube, and then to get in a better mood, T.S. Monk, Jr.'s "Bon Vie." What a marvelous song!
Why can't I recapture the pretty pure joy I felt, listening to that song when I was 15? God, please let me get over my essential sense of loneliness. Now, I'm listening to "Sarah, Sarah," by Jonathan Butler. This is pure self-absorption. So what?
I'm really nostalgic for who I didn't become. Met people at this conference who were involved with a woman with whom I was involved 15 years prior. Met a researcher, who recognized the name of the only boyfriend I ever had. They research similar cancer-things. Another former administrator from his school, who knew him, too. Now, she's an IBM colleague.
The world really is strangely connected. Women flirted with me when I wore the tie today. I wish I could feel that powerful all the time.
The world responds to me and I love it and have a hard time, taking it in.
If only I could just feel peaceful. I don't want to want so much.
Bon Vie & Mr. Lonely
Too many beautiful women, too little exercise, too much humanity, not enough. My finger-nails need attention; sleep is calling. So is packing.
Missing Chely Wright 'cause I didn't plan it right. I'll be boarding my plane as she stands before everyone else at the convention center.
Logo'ed lanyards, free lip-balm as a promo, if only I'd known and not bought it from the hotel gift-shop.
New friend, who's fluent in Thai....I experimented today and wore a tie; got everything from, "You look beautiful," to "Hi, Gorgeous! Are you turning transgender?"
Should have responded, "Aren't we all?" Instead: "Who knows, and if I can't wear this here, where can I?"
Learned the most about myself when opting to enter the gender-neutral bathroom for the first time at the conference and being reminded of the first time I entered a lesbian bar in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Who saw me?
Only this time, do they think I'm trans? Instant shame about worrying what they thought.
Such a contrast to the Facebook note I received earlier tonight from the little sister of a junior-high-school classmate, David. She posted a photo of me, dancing with David at his twin brother's and his bar mitzvah.
Really was hoping to dance tonight with my people. Shake off that struggling new teenage self -- and also, embrace the essential sweetness of who I was then.
Instead, ended the night, feeling desirous and thwarted and ashamed and sad and wistful and unfinished and off-kilter and not powerful like I did during the day, when I wore my dad's (z"l) tie.
Who wants to go for a drink? Not me. I wanted to go dancing.
Only, I wanted it to be like it was in Austin -- dancing right outside the banquet hall -- no special effort required. And then there wasn't convenient dancing, and it was anti-climactic, big-time.
I am touch-starved and can't wait to pet Pat and the kitties. I'm very lonesome.
Played Bobby Vinton's "Mister Lonely" on YouTube, and then to get in a better mood, T.S. Monk, Jr.'s "Bon Vie." What a marvelous song!
Why can't I recapture the pretty pure joy I felt, listening to that song when I was 15? God, please let me get over my essential sense of loneliness. Now, I'm listening to "Sarah, Sarah," by Jonathan Butler. This is pure self-absorption. So what?
I'm really nostalgic for who I didn't become. Met people at this conference who were involved with a woman with whom I was involved 15 years prior. Met a researcher, who recognized the name of the only boyfriend I ever had. They research similar cancer-things. Another former administrator from his school, who knew him, too. Now, she's an IBM colleague.
The world really is strangely connected. Women flirted with me when I wore the tie today. I wish I could feel that powerful all the time.
The world responds to me and I love it and have a hard time, taking it in.
If only I could just feel peaceful. I don't want to want so much.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Be Careful What We Wish For?
The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.
Or Be More Ardent than Ever?
Desire is just a sexy term for hope, it has occurred to me. I'm still thinking about what we discussed in class recently, about how social media can increase opportunities for instant gratification and can diminish desire, and how desire is an engine of social change.
In my experience, social media are agents for positive social change. The shy and marginalized can become empowered, the privileged can share and writers can be redeemed, since much of social media rely on writing and reading, and responding with more writing and reading.
Replacing Historic Hopes with New Ones
In the movie, "Milk," Harvey Milk declared, "You've gotta give 'em hope!" In "Brokeback Mountain," I empathized above all with the heterosexual wife, and also felt awful for Dan White in "Milk." In both cases, I think it's because their hope disappeared...and yet, in each case, if society had been more inclusive of gay people to begin with, no drama would have been necessary.
What if social media made life equitable for gay, lesbian, bi and transpeople, and other historically-underrepresented groups by doing as I declared above -- by giving us unprecedented visibility? Would we lose our desire/hope for greater freedom? It seems like it would take some time to catch up with thousands of years of being so often relegated to the margins. I think it would be a good problem to face -- trying to figure out what's next after freedom.
Or Be More Ardent than Ever?
Desire is just a sexy term for hope, it has occurred to me. I'm still thinking about what we discussed in class recently, about how social media can increase opportunities for instant gratification and can diminish desire, and how desire is an engine of social change.
In my experience, social media are agents for positive social change. The shy and marginalized can become empowered, the privileged can share and writers can be redeemed, since much of social media rely on writing and reading, and responding with more writing and reading.
Replacing Historic Hopes with New Ones
In the movie, "Milk," Harvey Milk declared, "You've gotta give 'em hope!" In "Brokeback Mountain," I empathized above all with the heterosexual wife, and also felt awful for Dan White in "Milk." In both cases, I think it's because their hope disappeared...and yet, in each case, if society had been more inclusive of gay people to begin with, no drama would have been necessary.
What if social media made life equitable for gay, lesbian, bi and transpeople, and other historically-underrepresented groups by doing as I declared above -- by giving us unprecedented visibility? Would we lose our desire/hope for greater freedom? It seems like it would take some time to catch up with thousands of years of being so often relegated to the margins. I think it would be a good problem to face -- trying to figure out what's next after freedom.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
D-E-S-I-R-E
The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.
Acronymification
Dreaming
Everywhere
Should
Instantiate
Reality's
Ephemera.
Acronymification
Dreaming
Everywhere
Should
Instantiate
Reality's
Ephemera.
Paul Tillich Called it the Ultimate Animator
The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.
Just Some of My Desires
Desire to fit in. Desire to stand out. Desire to live. Desire to love. Desire for cash. Desire for health. Desire to laugh. Desire to lie. Desire to hurt. Desire to hibernate. Desire to shine. Desire to take. Desire to kvetch. Desire to gossip. Desire not to be gossiped about.
Desire to be loved. Desire. Desire. Desire. Desire. Desire for more. Desire for Halloween candy. Desire to wander. Desire to settle. Desire to refresh. Desire to establish. Desire for redemption. Desire for license. Desire to produce. Desire to create. Desire to procreate. Desire to abstain. Desire to lord over. Desire to be humble.
They'll Sound Like Commands if You Can Relate
Desire to know. Desire to be mystified. Desire to appreciate God. Desire to empathize. Desire to care. Desire to ignore. Desire to deny. Desire to allow. Desire to indulge. Desire to repent. Desire for contrition. Desire for shamelessness.
Desire to cry. Desire to be numb. Desire to penetrate. Desire to be impenetrable. Desire to be understood. Desire to fly. Desire to swim. Desire to sing. Desire to play with our cats. Desire to rest. Desire to energize. Desire to inspire. Desire to dare. Desire to desire. Desire for gratitude. Desire for adventure. Desire to be satisfied.
Just Some of My Desires
Desire to fit in. Desire to stand out. Desire to live. Desire to love. Desire for cash. Desire for health. Desire to laugh. Desire to lie. Desire to hurt. Desire to hibernate. Desire to shine. Desire to take. Desire to kvetch. Desire to gossip. Desire not to be gossiped about.
Desire to be loved. Desire. Desire. Desire. Desire. Desire for more. Desire for Halloween candy. Desire to wander. Desire to settle. Desire to refresh. Desire to establish. Desire for redemption. Desire for license. Desire to produce. Desire to create. Desire to procreate. Desire to abstain. Desire to lord over. Desire to be humble.
They'll Sound Like Commands if You Can Relate
Desire to know. Desire to be mystified. Desire to appreciate God. Desire to empathize. Desire to care. Desire to ignore. Desire to deny. Desire to allow. Desire to indulge. Desire to repent. Desire for contrition. Desire for shamelessness.
Desire to cry. Desire to be numb. Desire to penetrate. Desire to be impenetrable. Desire to be understood. Desire to fly. Desire to swim. Desire to sing. Desire to play with our cats. Desire to rest. Desire to energize. Desire to inspire. Desire to dare. Desire to desire. Desire for gratitude. Desire for adventure. Desire to be satisfied.
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