5 Years Later

5 Years ago, on New Year’s Day, I sent a similar photo to a lover;
A man with whom things were not working out and he had already started letting go.
For a long time I didn’t have a reason to push it or ask him what our status was.
But late 2014 a new man had come into my life.
Someone who was involved. At the time I had no reason to believe we would act on our interest for each other.
And I knew he was cherishing the holidays to tighten bonds with his family; Something that would continue to be a pattern, during the 5 years the man who would be known as Mr.Big, would be in my life.
December would always be our most distant month. Until ultimately, December became when it stranded.
But I didn’t know all that.
Not 5 years ago.
All I knew was that I had a lover who had been extracting himself out of my life, because we had difficulties to overcome. Practicalities, mostly. But I had really been into him.
Maybe he saw things clearer than I did. Maybe what he wanted was not possible with me. Who knows.
All I remember, with great clarity, is taking a picture on January 1 2015 asking him to let me go, if he didn’t want to continue.
I don t know if I told the whole truth, but I can’t imagine I didn’t;
That I had fallen in love with someone else. And that although I could not see us getting romantically involved, I wanted to know where we, the distant lover and me, stood.
I remember being incredibly sad.
That I could not believe our summer affair had lead to nothing, and that I d now fallen in love with someone who was spending the holidays with a family. His family. To whom I was a threat.
To whom our love, would be a threat.
I took many pictures and ultimately saved 2 or 3. One of which I sent to the man with whom I had a summer affair and who had now become distant.
He replied and he let me go.
Before January 1st was over, I was all alone.
It took until late January for Mr.Big to make his move. And for the first 6 months I believed he would choose me. They were incredibly frustrating.
But then everything changed.
I got used to being a secret mistress, and was genuinely happy he had never made “me” a reason to get a divorce.
Mr.Big never talked to me about guilt, nor blamed me for complicating his life.
When we saw each other it was incredibly loving, light, exciting. It was even emotionally safe: we trusted each other, we d never hurt one another.
But with every year that passed, things became more difficult for him I think.
He contacted me less frequently.
Until this December he ended what we had.
And here I am. 5 Years later.
And there is something I did not tell.
I m in love with someone else. We don’t talk about it. We rarely see each other and to the untrained eye, nothing can be seen.
And even to the trained eye, nothing can be seen.
Not a word… not a word ever spoken about what I have felt from the first moment I saw him, although it took over a month to sink in.
But I never want to be a secret mistress ever again. I don’t want to be the villain in your story.
So 2020 will not be the year I recreate what I had with Mr. Big, with another man.
But then what will it lead to?
This unseen, unspoken, tension, as if the air between us is on fire.
All I know is that I took picture after picture at the bridge.
And that they all came out radiating.

An unexamined life is not worth living

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2020
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
Blote Kont- (Dutch)
5. ALL THE THINGS – unpublished work 2010 – 2020

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.
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Raising my standards: sex and one proper date a week. With myself if I have to.

You know what the crappy thing is about sexual awakenings?
Or as was the case with me, a sexual wake-up call by a rockstar writer oozing youth and health and OMG gimme that!!
(damn it’s been way too long), the crappy thing is, it won’t go back to sleep.
Not even by masturbating, which I did try, and which was kind of a milestone experience because for the first time in years I didn’t masturbate to my secret lover Mr.Big.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I insist on sticking to the correct order of things which actually started before I knew I was going to see the young writer, when Mr.Big said he’d call me which was odd because he barely ever calls me. And this time in particular, I felt like it wasn’t good.
I looked forward to hearing his voice, but I was on my guard.

It sounded suspicious.
But I was wrong.
We had a lovely phone conversation. The content was friendly though, not sexual. But that was to be expected: we weren’t the phone sex type. We didn’t even text sexy messages, working up to seeing each other.

Our relationship was always as if it had never existed and still had to start. As if we were still in the phase of not admitting we really liked each other.
It was one of the many things I appreciated about being his secret mistress, I never felt like he took me for granted. And I certainly never took him for granted either. I knew the risks he took by seeing me, and that I would always be a liability.

It wasn’t that I didn’t know my worth as a lover, it was that I was painfully aware I came at the price of risking it all.
Maybe I didn’t get the long end of the stick, seeing so little of the man I love, but at least I didn’t have to juggle either. My price for being infatuated, perpetually in love year after year – something no man I had slept with had ever achieved – was that it could be over and done with at any time.
And on the day of the call, I feared we were done for.
But we weren’t.

Maybe he had changed his mind, or maybe he really did just want a chat because he was so busy and didn’t want to neglect me. But I enjoyed it.
Yet I haven’t seen him since.

So when I saw the young rockstar writer, whose presence was an energetic wake-up call, like:
“Hello! Lady! Where’s your sex life?”
I had already been asking myself that same question. And doubt had started to creep in. Had Mr.Big been wanting to break up with me?
And/or was he doing that now by simply not arranging a new date?
Did it mean something, that I didn’t see him?
And even if that didn’t mean anything else than all the times before – which was that there was stuff going on at work, family, or with himself – even if that positive scenario was the case, which didn’t have anything to do with me, how long was that going to be enough?

What exactly, was my bottom line when it came to being monogamous? A status I liked, that’s not the point. I don’t like the idea of another lover. But honestly?
If I didn’t appear to be having a minimum date or sex requirement, then wasn’t it about time that I started to think about the ultimate consequences of this?

Should I perhaps end it myself, to make room for someone who would be able to see me regularly? Or was that too drastic?
Should I get a second lover then?
Or was that out of my league, and was I incapable of setting up something on the side? I had never managed to do it in the past. Not even when I was with my long-term relationship, and getting an affair would have had the potential to save our entire relationship.
Even then I couldn’t, despite trying. It was like my advances bounced off of every man I set eyes on. I had never felt so unloved.

So then what?
Was I going to come up with a Plan B, or did I intend to keep suffering every time my needs weren’t met and I was kept in uncertainty about my fate?

My first instinct was to call Mr.Big. Yet after chewing over that plan for a while, I dismissed it. It would only throw us back to the quarreling of our first months. With me wanting something, and him making a point of not being able to give it.
And besides, the whole problem is being caused by me not taking responsibility for my own sex life. As long as I insist on being monogamous, the consequence is that I m dependent on someONE else to supply it.
And I ve always believed this to be true for marriages as well, which is why I’m pro-mistresses and pro-lovers.
“Cheating” is a sign of taking responsibility for your own sex life and releasing your partner of that task. And ideally, you give your partner as much time for himself, or herself, as he or she needs to  process that and figure things out. And offer the option to never have sex again with you.
But if you know beforehand he or she doesn’t want you to cheat, then you don’t tell.

Some call that lying, I call it courteous.
I would even call it saving the relationship.

And I felt that right now, the time had come to save my relationship with Mr.Big by starting to take care of myself. It wasn’t healthy that my body sighed, and moaned, during yoga because then at least it experienced something.
It wasn’t healthy that my final years of being fertile and juicy, were wasted having sex far less than once a month.
It was downright appalling.
And whatever reason I thought I had – me being monogamous, me being absolutely over the moon about Mr.Big, me having been terribly unsuccessful in the past in getting a second lover, and needing nine freaking years after ending my long term relationship before I finally, FINALLY, found my ultimate lover Mr.Big –
those reasons were no longer valid.
Not if I wanted an average sex life, but especially not if I wanted an absolutely amazing sex life.
Seeing the young rockstar writer taught me that.

So today when I masturbated, I hesitated.. For years I had masturbated exclusively to Mr.Big. It was something that I had consciously chosen to do, after an early attempt to make it more neutral. According to instructions from a program to attract the man of your dreams, I was supposed to masturbate thinking about “my dream lover”.
Yet it always resulted in thinking about Mr.Big.
Until I stopped fighting it, and gave in, and did it only with him in mind.

But now I felt it was important to stop doing that.
If I did keep masturbating to Mr.Big I would keep affirming that he was the only one. When from now on, I wouldn’t exclude anything anymore.
It was a bit odd, but I managed, and I was fine. Everything still functioned, even without thinking about him.

And I’m going to create dates for myself. I ve thought about joining a dating site, but I wasn’t feeling like it. Perhaps, not feeling like it yet?
But I m going to start by dating the men I already know, or maybe new men I meet. Or I m going to take myself on dates; grooming and dressing well and taking good care of myself.
Blocking my calendar, planning in advance. I so missed that, all the anticipation. I m going to visualize and plan, at least one date every week.
Even if this is just me taking myself some place nice.
And I’m also going to time block staying in and having sex, once a week. Again, I will go solo if I need to. But maybe I don’t need to.
Who knows what will happen.
But those are my new standards, from now on forward.
And the hows or the whos, will just need figure themselves out.

All I m committing to is to keep an open mind.
And not call Mr.Big.

An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living


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A Rock Star Writer and a Sexual Wake-up Call

I knew something was off, when during the occasional yoga practice my body started responding to ANY movement, with a sexual groan or a sigh or an “Oh my God that feels good.”
But today I had the in-person sexual wake-up call from the same man who kicked me out of hibernation five years ago; a young rock star writer who was doing his book tour.

Which in America would mean readers waiting in line, hoping for an autograph and over the moon with personal attention.
But in The Netherlands book signings are a pretty lonely place to be. I assume they’re merely are a token of goodwill to the bookstores and the four fans who knew you were coming.
And that’s me estimating, four people.
Because he told me I wasn’t the only one, and I got there halfway during the signing. With one or two people before me, and one or two after me, that makes four.

Due to their deserted nature, these book signings are usually an immense treat for the few fans who do show up! The author has all the time in the world, and in this case he knew exactly who I was. We met when his debut novel was published, and stayed in touch ever since.
He was The Rock star Writer; whose driven voice and high sexual energy had shook me out of sexual inertia, years ago.
And I was The Blogger, who had written a book about him.

In the past few years we ran into each other occasionally, when I visited book events. But he had not done any tours since then. So this was our reunion.
He was taller than I remembered. I must have been wearing high heels the last time. And he’s bigger than me as well, because he works out daily or something. He has pecs you can crack walnuts on.
Yet, I had forgotten what his physical presence was like.
Which is strange, because he looks good “on paper” too.

Photographers love him, and he always gives entertaining interviews for radio and tv. And he also shows his true emotions, which are usually raw.
His debut novel backfired with turmoil among certain groups, and caused a personal drama.
And this time too, the book backfired with turmoil among certain groups, and was followed by a personal drama.
I asked him about it. Was it true, what he had said in that interview?
It was.

How sad to go through personal loss the moment you publish a book. Twice.
Now he is a winner, he’s tough. But still, I feel for him.
Anyway, that’s not what I was going to say.

What I meant was: I assumed I knew his “energy”. Especially because he’s exactly the same in the media, as he is in person. And yet, the experience of him, is something you cannot prepare yourself for. I would compare it to standing next to a nuclear sexual bomb.

Totally contained! We didn’t even flirt.
And yet it was impossible not to feel his true strength; an infinite well of blatant ambition, push-forward energy, and for certain, sexual zest.

If anyone else would pick up on it, entire crowds would be swirling around him, to spend a minute in that aura.

In India there are several Gurus whose presence is considered divine.
People have all kinds of holy experiences attending their lectures or being in their presence.
Sometimes even getting a hug.
Those Gurus who hug have waiting lines that can be up to a day!

I wonder why Westerners can have these experiences, can pick on somebody else’s energy, when it’s from an Indian Guru?
Yet in real life, they seem oblivious to human energy the strength of a small army.

Even when it’s from the most successful young writer of our country, with a background that put him up against the odds of ever achieving anything in life.

I would say that pretty much gave him away: how could he possibly attain that level of success without wanting it more than anybody else?
Without getting up e-v’ry-time he was down?
He couldn’t.

And it was in these five to ten minutes, talking to the writer, that I could feel my lack of energy in all those areas.
My lack of ambition; I m back to treating writing as a hobby even.
My flaky lust; I haven’t seen my secret married lover for so long, I’m not even sure I have a place in his life anymore.
I felt my lack of will to live.

Sure: when all is fine, all is fine. And thankfully, after going through a rough couple of weeks, everything IS fine.
Thank God.

But when did I ever try to get up when I was down?
When did I ever get myself a lover when Mr.Big was occupied?
When did I ever REALLY pursue a career in writing?
He was the mirror image of all the things I wasn’t, and that no one could go get for me.

If I wanted to be that unstoppable, that healthy, that success driven and even remotely sexually satisfied? I would have to change my ways. He was just an example that it could be done.

And the rest, was up to me.

An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living


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New books will be added.

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready,
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Lovers Politician Gate: The Virtuous Right to Lie and Cheat

This morning, news broke that the left wing party who had the biggest win during last elections, fired two of its members of parliament, for lying about when their affair had started.

The reason their political leader gave, was the same reason all people who ever got cheated on use:
“I will never be able to trust you again.”
And it hit a nerve with me.
Because this subject – our right to lie and not tell the truth – is one close to my heart, and something that is applicable not just in love.

But in everything.

Being a secret mistress, I had a reason to rethink the topics of transparency and lying. I wasn’t feeling too good about:
“He is lying to his wife and that makes me an accomplice.”

I m currently tutoring someone in logic (Math), and it’s easy to see that line of reasoning hides a lot of incorrect assumptions. But even before that, I could see it didn’t make sense.
And I stopped feeling responsible for someone else.

The longer I am a mistress, the better I know:
We are all born a certain way.

You don’t become a cheating husband by accident. You become it because your brain is hard wired to sustain that kind of tension. You probably don’t feel alive until you have multiple parallel lives, secrets, where one doesn’t know the other one exists. It’s the kind of voltage normal people will immediately try to smooth out. It eats them up from the inside out.
But not you.

Men, or women, who cheat, whether with a mistress or with random encounters, need that. And they need it to be secret. If it’s not a secret, it becomes something entirely different.
Something that more than likely, will not do anything for them.

So realizing that, not only did I discharge myself from having to take responsibility for his actions; I even to an extend discharged him of it.
I’m not going to say that if you’re hard wired for this, or as I call it, if it’s your sexual orientation, that you don’t have the option of repressing your natural tendencies and staying faithful.
Sure you do.

Just that you’ll never become as good at it, as people who have a natural intolerance to living under that kind of stress.

Your brain will not respond to the calm and the clarity of having a monogamous love life without lies, in the way the brain of a monogamist will respond to it.
So obviously I don’t see anything wrong with keeping your secret relationship, secret.

But there is more to expelling the two lovers from the Green Left party.

First off, do you know what a real leader would do? Stand by his people, no matter fucking what.
Through scandal.
Through crimes.
Through political failure.

And you do this because it’s best practice in any organisation but you do it in particular if your team just brought you victory during the last election.
This is your time to take responsibility and take the punches for your employees.

And it doesn’t even have to be like that. Because a real leader can completely brush aside any private affairs, stating their party has other priorities:
“And so should you.”
A sneer to any journalist butting in.

No journalist, no party member, absolutely no one, is entitled to know the truth about your sex life, unless what you’re doing is a felony.

And there is a bigger lesson here: if you are having a relationship with anyone, assuming they have told you the truth about their marital status, their diplomas, the money they have in the bank?
If you’re in a relationship assuming your partner is faithful?
You’re in it for the wrong reasons.

Next week, I m going to start with a business coach someone recommended to me. And then someone else warned me saying:
“Be careful. Anyone can call themselves a coach. It doesn’t require a certain training or education.”
And I laughed.

Because the moment I make a coaching relationship dependent on whether or not someone has gone through the right training, I’m saying:
“I m counting on external things to justify our relationship.”

In my opinion, any relationship should be based on either one of two things.

One is the loyalty or need you feel to be there.
For example taking care of a sick family member. If you feel called to do this, it should be without expecting any reward. They still might not include you in their will. They still might be nasty.  But if you see it as your duty, it’s your duty.

But this is not the way we perceive love relationships, friendships, going to coaches, nor the way we view work relationships.

Which brings us to the second basis of a relationship;
You’re there because you want to.
A totally different situation where the relationship is based on value, and on giving and receiving. Where it’s still difficult to argue what will benefit you most (I think the giving!)  but okay.
However… there is one thing strikingly similar, between this mature relationship style, and one based on obligation.
Either you do it. Or you don’t.
Either you’re in the relationship FULLY. Or you’re out.

You should never do it because you’re expecting some kind of reward, or because you assume someone is behaving in a certain way off-screen. In their own time.
In any mature relationship, the reward is in the moment, in the now. 
And if you’re not feeling it, then you should get out.

Don’t stay because you assume someone is faithful. Because then you’ll regret it if they’re unfaithful.
Don’t stay because they have money in the bank and will take care of you at old age. Because then you’ll be disappointed if they spent it.
Don’t stay because the coach has good diplomas. Because then you’ll feel betrayed if they were fake.
Don’t keep two members on your team assuming they’re infallible or don’t have secrets. You will be disappointed.
Losing faith in someone over any of those things, reveals a bitter truth:
It was you, who was the liar.

You, the betrayed party, were untruthful as a lover, an employer or a client. Your presence in the relationship, stopped being appropriate a long time ago. Because you were in it for the wrong reasons, a lot of assumptions and possibly a future outcome. And now you’re just angry because someone refused to accommodate your hidden agenda.

Thankfully for you, we live in a society that idolizes transparency, so public opinion, all your friends, the judge, the party, and everybody else will more than likely choose your side.
So enjoy your bitter victory of being right.
Meanwhile killing off everything you loved.
And who more than likely loved you back, which is why they never bothered you with the truth. They thought the truth wasn’t what your relationship was about.
That it was about good politics, and doing something for your country.
About motivation and inspiration.
Love, presence, and joy.
They were the ones who really thought you were in this together.

And you just proved them wrong.

An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living


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Submissive caring bottom

“I haven’t had sex for ages,” I complained to Damian.
He had picked me up from the station in his baby Benz, and sped us to his house which he shared with his boyfriend and four cats.

“You know, I’ve realized Big is like my goose with the golden eggs,” I continued.
Mr. Big was my secret lover, who I only saw when he saw fit.
Which he hadn’t in a long time.

“If I didn’t have Mr.Big I wouldn’t have anything interesting to write about.”

“These nights won’t help,” Damian agreed. “We ate ice cream, we watched Madonna videos,” he mimicked Madonna’s helium 80s voice when she did a little sketch of how she started out.
We laughed really hard, and my dream came true,” I finished it for him.
Damian laughed
“If this is what you dream of we can’t be friends.”
He drove wildly over a speed bump.

Damian was the only friend who had foreseen I would need a Plan B if my cat Max would die. About two months prior, he suggested that I should visit him and his boyfriend, and more importantly, their cats.
It took me quite a while before I took him up on it.
But now we had weekly date nights on the couch, and sometimes a second date as well, going to a movie or such.

We never skipped my weekly dose of kitty, in favor of a normal date. In fact we never skipped it at all. And although I initially came to cuddle with the cats, to be in the company of two men turned out to be a great substitute for not seeing Big as often as I would have liked.
“I love being with you and Daniel,” I confessed. “It’s so good to get this male energy.”

I wasn’t angry with Big. After three and a half year, being a secret mistress had become a conscious choice. I knew I would never be satisfied having a relationship with someone who was available.
Not seeing Big much was the downside of an otherwise perfect arrangement. Or maybe it wasn’t even a downside. Maybe it was what made seeing each other so good.
“I do wonder what void I fill with you guys,” I asked Damian. “It’s not like you need female energy.”
“You’re my alibi for weekly ice cream,” Damian answered.

We always had vegan ice-cream. Damian ate vegan, whenever it was easy and available. But I appreciated it, and now preferred it over regular ice-cream. It didn’t make you feel so heavy and it contained 30% less sugar.
Which might explain why I ate about a hundred percent more of it.
In the first few weeks, Damian offered to split the pint of peanut-butter cookie dough ice-cream, and I was all like:
“Oh no! That’s way too much for me!”
But after a few weeks of then agreeing to a second portion, and basically eating half of the pint anyway, my objections just became a running gag.
“I begin to see what you’re like in bed!” Damian would mock me. “Oh no! That’s way too big, I can’t take that!

Lately, Damian stocked two or three flavors of ice-cream, and we had lost our natural limit of one jar split in half. So now the jokes about second portions were current again.
“Just force it into my bowl. I don’t want to have a say in it.”
“You know I don’t do that,” Damian would then dismiss it, and open a detailed conversation of how many scoops of every flavor I wanted for my second portion.

Damian was a bottom, just like me. Which meant he didn’t like taking charge.
He had been the first with whom I really, really, shared what I was like in bed. I even told him more than the guys I was with, and I never discussed my sex life with my girlfriends.
Not really.
Even then – before #metoo – powerplay and play-rape were almost political subjects. You couldn’t go around claiming your entire sexuality came down to wanting to be penetrated in all your holes without consent.
And if you did you were supposed to engage in defending and explaining, that yes of course, there had actually been consent. And of course not, would you like real rape.
A draining conversation.
For both parties I assumed.

So for years I only talked real sex with Damian. And even now, he was the only one who understood, that if you (a bottom) had to make the first move, you did it so reluctantly and basically held it against someone. The other person better make that up to you, by immediately taking charge and making the next five moves and beyond.
So that we could go back to the comfort of being bottoms.

The only time Damian and me were inclined to be versatile, was if the guy was way younger and age put us in charge. Then we’d make an exception, which we saw as “taking responsibility”.
But it wasn’t ideal.

Damian was living with Daniel, who was versatile. This meant that Daniel could play multiple roles. Damian and me tried to categorize the cats as well. The bitchy lady was a dominatrix (we immediately agreed on her); the male cat with the cute small face was gender-neutral (Damian disagreed), and the two giant male cats were “just into anything naughty” (according to Damian).
“I would say versatile,” I said.
“That’s the same thing,” Damian brushed it off.

We went into the kitchen to get ice-cream and Damian filled our bowls, contemplating out loud how much he should leave in the containers for Daniel.
“Does he want ice-cream too?” I asked.
I didn’t recall seeing Daniel eating ice-cream. He was at his usual spot at the dining table, gaming with his online friends. Daniel could hear our conversations and occasionally contributed.
“We just had dinner,” Damian said. “Daniel can’t eat, if he’s just eaten.”
“I don’t understand that,” I said.
“Of course not. You’re a bottom. We can always take more.”

We settled on the couch, with cats, ice-cream and Madonna’s Confessions tour. Damian was the only one who cuddled with his cats in the same way I did. He was always completely taken aback by how cute they were, and showered them with compliments as he kissed their little heads, and faces. The cats were completely docile, because they were so used to being handled.
The two naughty ones were of course very naughty. Something Daniel tried to correct.

“I m the bad cop of the house,” he complained, as me and Damian were completely devoid of any desire to do anything about anyone.
“Just let them!” I defended the cats, whenever Daniel asked me to help out when the naughty ones tore up the couch or bullied each other.
Daniel rolled his eyes; “Promise me, you’ll never get a dog.”
“I promise.”

Damian and me talked about how I had looked for job opportunities in taking care of elderly people or mentally disabled people.
“It’s like with cats: I give love and care. I don’t need anything back, the reward is in the giving.”
But so far the response from recruitment had been lukewarm at best.
“And that’s okay, you know. I believe in divine guidance. If a door doesn’t open, it’s not my door. It’s like with dating. Either you’re super eager to see me. Or you’re not. But I m not going to sell myself.”
“Of course you’re not,” Damian agreed. “You’re submissive. A loving caring bottom.”

On screen Madonna was dancing and showing off her gorgeous body. As if he was reading my thoughts, Damian said:
“She’s 47 there. No, 48.”
“That gives me two years to get that body,” I sighed, patting my chubby belly. “Originally I said I was going to lose it all, by July 5th.”
“Why July 5th?”  Damian asked.
“I don’t know. I just came across it, in a blog. Now I’m waiting for a miracle.”
“Maybe you can pray to Ganesha,” Damian suggested.
“Ganesha? I think we need something stronger. Like Kali.”
I need something fierce and dominant, to whip this bottom into shape.

Preferably without consent.

An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living


My diaries are available at LULU
New books will be added.

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready,
is to subscribe to this blog.
Button on this page, probably on the top right.

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Back in the closet

I spent the day of the royal wedding with the only gay men whom I knew would not be watching the wedding.
Well, that’s not true.
I have many gay friends and I can’t see any of them being remotely interested. Maybe it’s an Anglo-Saxon thing because I don’t know any Dutch gays interested in royalty. Except for a few royalty reporters.
Interested in sex? All of them.
Madonna? Fifty percent.
Musicals? A few.
I even know one who is a soccer fan. He kept that from me for years. I was baffled when his boyfriend accidentally let that slip.
And then you think you know someone!!

But I never detected an interest in royalty in any of them. And four out of five don’t care for weddings either. And neither do I.
I ve been declining wedding invitations for years. I would make an exception if it was direct family, or closest friend. Only for the ones I love most.

I always feel like Maleficent when it comes to weddings. Maleficent is the uninvited evil fairy from Sleeping Beauty. Except of course I don’t want to be invited either.

Now that I’m a mistress, it makes even more sense because mistresses and weddings are not a logical combination. Maybe one day, if we totally own our sexuality, mistresses will be able to rejoice in weddings:
“Yay! More married men!”

But not attending weddings has more to do with the fact that I simply don’t like parties, and I don’t like being reduced to an audience either.
Unless it’s to attend something that I find truly inspiring. For example going to a museum or taking a guided historical walk, then I can be audience. Even a concert with a support act would already be beyond my attention span. I would give it fifteen minutes tops, between handing in my ticket and needing the main show to start.

But I don’t care for weddings either, if I can watch Harry and Meghan from the quiet seclusion of my own home. So I didn’t watch.
And neither did my gay friends.
I spent the Saturday with them, and was asked about a certain person. If I thought he was gay or not. And I admitted that I had always assumed he was gay, but that it was getting harder to believe since he was now forty plus and married with children.

And this was a guy who could get anybody, any age, any gender, any sexual orientation, to make an exception for him (if necessary). He was absolutely gorgeous.
Which was one of the reasons I assumed he was gay.

Straight men are usually not that easy on the eyes, and they do not score that high on people skills either. One of the reasons male players barely have any competition, is because most other men are so uncomfortable talking to women.
This is local; Could be different somewhere else!
But in The Netherlands, if a man easily connects with people in general but that includes women; He’s either a player or he’s gay.
I still thought this one was gay.
“I have the impression he’s never coming out of the closet. He’s hiding even deeper.”
My friends and me all agree someone can stay in the closet for as long he or she wants. I wasn’t always like that but it’s one thing being a mistress taught me: to realize that when your sexuality meets opposition, you have every right to deny it, lie about it, or refrain from it. You have the right to setup a whole second life and marry whoever you choose, and to stay in the closet forever.
If that’s what you want.

At times I suspect the only reason I’m even in this relationship with a married man, is because I believed it was temporary. I wouldn’t even have recognized myself in that word “Mistress”. I believed it was temporary and that he would choose for me.
You can compare it to experimenting with someone from the same gender.
It’s stage one.
It’s an important step, but it’s only experimenting. You’re not making any decisions. 

To go from stage one to realizing you’re full blown liking it and never want to go back, can still take years. And maybe you will never allow for that level of accepting who you are. Regardless of how lighthearted you jumped into the experimental stage.

So my friends and me don’t out people. And I m ashamed to say that I once did press a friend, and took it personal I felt he wasn’t honest. I would apologize if I ever saw him again.
But I do still fantasize and wonder: Would he? Is he?
And so do my friends.

So we were wondering about this man presumably hiding deep into the closet of being gay, and things started to shift inside of me as well. My previous post, which cost me two days and one heart attack to write, was still fresh in my memory. I knew being so open about being a mistress, and actually advocating it to those who have similar preferences for secrecy, excitement, and unavailable men (wake up call! you will never be satisfied with something else!), was coming at a price;

Like being gay, a mistress can never be sure if she will not be molested or killed over it. I have so many “friends” who say they would kill their husbands if they found out.
I know better.
They’d kill me.
So that’s what I mean when I say I no longer out gay men. But that it probably took me until I was a mistress to really feel that choice. To understand why it’s sometimes practically impossible to honor who you are and speak up for what you believe in.
But the conversation, combined with my recent anxiety attacks, had stirred something in me; I wanted out.
Not out of the relationship – I never considered that a serious option.
I wanted to stop drawing attention to myself.
No writing, no books, no message.
No Twitter, no Facebook, no career.
I would just go back to being a yoga teacher and keep my thoughts to myself and my gay friends. Maybe I wouldn’t get killed, if I stopped speaking about my sexual preference. Maybe “they” would leave me alone, if I was “only” a yoga teacher..

And the pieces started to move, and the day went by and I didn’t write for this daily blog, and slowly my thoughts started to make sense.
One of the key insights into my own preferences was my need for secrecy. That I had lost a huge part of joy with my long-term boyfriend, when we made our relationship public after six months.
There was the initial excitement over being able to share it.
And then – poof! – it was gone.
Initially I thought it was because after a while you’re not in love anymore. But that wasn’t it, because I’ve been in love for over three years with my lover. I get more butterflies every time.
My fleeting interest with my long-term boyfriend was simply caused by our “coming out”. 

I was way more excited about us when we were still a secret.
And had lost something valuable, coming out of the closet.

If I would stop talking and writing about being a mistress, I could go back to having the perks of secrecy and stop having these anxiety attacks… It’s so difficult to say no to that.
It comes down to existential questions like:
Why I am here on earth?
How important is it for me to get this message out there?
Unfortunately: Very.
I don’t think there is a single area where I have a bigger contribution to make than here. Stopping now would feel like Marie Curie butting out of research before she discovered radioactivity.

I just Googled her.
What I didn’t know was that she too was a mistress when she was in her forties. Her husband had died and she had a lover who was a scientist too. He was married. At the time it wasn’t out of the ordinary for successful men to have a mistress, but she needed to stay in the background. The fact that she was famous and foreign, made her not eligible to be measured according to loose French standards. When the news broke she was scandalized and even had to go into hiding.

So although my work is far less important than Marie Curie’s, I do know this is it.
To stop writing would be a short term relief.
But I feel so strongly, that this is The Message. That some people, women, men, need this. To be a secret lover.
And some men or women need to have a second lover.
That’s how they’re wired.

You don’t accidentally end up loving two people.
If you love two people, there was a vacancy. It’s like those animals who have two penises: they’re built differently.

I don’t want to get too much on the field of people who have two partners: one legit, and one secret. Because I think that’s not my story to tell. But yes, they too are not heard. They probably don’t even understand themselves. They might even think they fucked it up.
It’s so sad. It’s ALL so sad.

If I think even further, about all those betrayed partners: They think it’s about them. That the relationship wasn’t good enough. That they shouldn’t have said such and such. Shouldn’t have been so difficult, or something.
Or that their partner should have left if they “wanted it so badly!”.
And so on.

The unnecessary sadness and suffering this taboo is causing, might be the most important reason why I don’t want to go back into the closet.
Not the closet of my sexuality.
I will persist, just like Marie Curie persisted.
And I hope it doesn’t cost me, but it did cost her. She died of an ailment caused by radioactive exposure. She paid with her life but her invention has been saving lives for over a hundred years.

But there is something else. Something I think I unconsciously let go off a long time ago. As if I already knew that standing up as a mistress, inevitably meant that I longed for more privacy in other areas.
I will no longer be writing diaries or erotica;
which has been my most important work since 2006.

I made this choice unconsciously. I can see that now, looking back on my last projects. 
Their content already shows me drawing back:
Reboot, started in August 2017, was about rebooting my body, but also contained a lot of sex.
The Hero’s Journey, started at Christmas, was only about yoga. Or about Not Practicing Yoga. The accountability of the blog had the opposite effect on me. I practically had four yoga-free months.
The Daily Hustle, started a month ago, was more about the daily grind, the yoga studio, and writing.
The only place where I m digging deeper into my soul than ever, are these posts, The Grateful Mistress Series.

In an effort to bring some of the passionate diary writing back, which I still had in my book Big diaries and erotica  I made countless note to selfs:
“Write erotica again!”
The last story was December 2016, which had been the published in Big.
But there will be no more erotic stories.
No more diaries.
No more speaking about yoga.
I know I ve shared all in the past, but I feel I need to draw back into the closet. That I have been drawing back for years.
Just that I failed to notice it.

I kept thinking my life was like an onion: That I could just keep peeling back layers. But when I saw the big picture, I realized that is a very dangerous way to think about self-revelation.
Ultimately, the onion will be gone.

It reminded me of a story about a sex worker. I think I saw it in a movie. She didn’t want to be touched in her armpits. Having a place on her body where she wasn’t touched gave her a sense of control, in a profession that required her to give up boundaries.
With The Grateful Mistress Series, I am already peeling layers, turning myself inside out.
But in order to keep being able to do that, I have to move all unrelated aspects of my life, or parts I am no longer willing to share, back into the closet.
Like an armpit; they may not be a particularly interesting part of me.
But as long as no one can touch me there?
I can share myself here.

An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living


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Affairs in a nutshell: no happy end in sight and a whole lotta anxiety

I had a rough night, haunted by the thought this affair could get me killed.
This affair. If it was personal.
Or I could be at risk for my ideas about secret relationships.

I live in the Netherlands and fifteen years ago we had two political assassinations which struck me as a message that you must always be willing to die for your beliefs.
Because you might.

Like many times before I considered breaking it off so I could stop fearing the future. And it was this night and morning of feeling so scared that made me look back at the beginning of our affair.
Could I have prevented this?

When my affair with Mr.Big was still in the early stages, I had simply assumed it was temporary. And that he would choose for me.
What we had was messy and it wasn’t ideal, but things would sort itself out. Even if he wouldn’t choose for me, I considered it absolutely impossible that something as brittle as an affair could survive without evolving into something else.
Either he would choose for me, or it would die of natural causes.
I never believed I ran the risk of becoming a secret, long term – maybe even lifelong – mistress.

In retrospect I think I fell victim to a modern day myth that “relationships are a verb.” Ever heard that one, or something like it? It means that you can’t expect a relationship to last, unless you work for it. Ideally work means that both parties are communicative and emotionally mature but we all know of hostile or dull relationships that last as well.
Without anyone making an effort to improve the quality of it.
But in those cases the couple finds something  in the relationship they wouldn’t have if they were by themselves.
The relationship is to their benefit.

And even hostility is an expression of fear of losing something that is really valuable. This could be fear of loss of the perks associated with the relationship. But it could also be fear of losing the relationship itself, which they value.
So whether positive or negative it’s usually not that difficult to see which kind of “work” or interest is holding a couple together.
And this can range from excellent communication or shared goals and dreams, to being at each others throats or feeling stuck.

Being stuck is extremely stable, by the way.

The habit of seeing a relationship as a verb, gave me the impression that in order for my affair to be something that would pass, all I had to do was nothing.
To not put in any work.
Because we had zero relationship glue in terms of perks, and there even was a severe price tag. We were both risking to be socially outlawed and he was also risking his marriage. There were no forces holding us together except that we liked each other, and we all know that is never enough!
We all know relationships are work, right?

So I was convinced an unstable system like our affair would disintegrate and become a stable one. Of course I hoped and assumed he would choose for me, but never in my wildest dreams or my worse nightmares did I assume the affair could last on its own.
It was a scenario I had never held possible.

That was the first reason I didn’t say “No” to my affair with Mr.Big, all those years ago: I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into.
But there was a second reason, and I think this is what “people” mean when they get all accusatory and can’t believe the atrocity that I am in a relationship where someone is being lied to.
That I should have said “No”, I don’t want to kiss you, because you’re married.
No, I don’t want to have sex with you, because you’re married.
I understand that line of reasoning. I admit it: by everyday moral I ve been wrong. Although technically following the ten commandments I’m not the one committing adultery, nor can I be considered coveting “your neighbor’s wife”.
It never said anything about the neighbor’s husband. It was probably fully legit to have a mistress or a second wife at the time.

But still, I understand my position is not going to win anyone’s sympathy vote.
And yet, who hasn’t heard of all those people who once on their deathbeds, regret not going for the love of their lives?
I d much rather be morally questioned, like I am now, than to die with regret. Falling in love is rare. And what is even rarer is for it to be mutual. So every time I am about to condemn myself for getting involved in the first place, I let it follow by:
“And at what cost? What were you ready to sacrifice here?”

And this is his story too. But I think the world is even less ready for the version of the story where a man can love two women, and he does the best he can.
He too, doesn’t want to end up being the man on his deathbed who regrets not going after someone he had deep feelings for and who could possibly have been one of the great loves of his life.

Maybe even THE.
And yet at the same time he didn’t want to discard what he had with his wife.

This must be so difficult for people to understand, but the longer we’re together, the more I m convinced he deeply loves his wife. If they had one of those relationships tied together by things like perks, external benefits, and what would their parents say? He would have left her.
But he stayed.
Because he loves her and he loves me too. It’s that simple.

And if right at the beginning, I had done what eeeeverybody said I should have done: not get involved because he is married.
This also implies that I would be making a promise it would happen if he would divorce. Which comes down to giving a married man an incentive, a reward, for leaving his wife.
I find that a lot more questionable.

So when I look back at the early stages I say: No.
This was the only possible thing I could do, based on love. Not fear.
And even these nights, where I believe I could get killed over it, I think: Never decide based on fear, always choose love. No matter how difficult it is.
I still don’t know of a better choice to make.

But there is one thing that neither my lover nor me, will ever do. An unspoken agreement. The moment our affair becomes one of those things that won’t matter on your deathbed;
We end it.
There are no hidden perks, no reasons to keep this going, except that we are simply two people who like each other very much.

But who will never work, to make it work.

An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

{ to keep these little gems aka blogposts from hijacking my day I set the intention to write them in sixty minutes. This one was written in three hours and fifteen minutes, including selecting a mistress Sex and the City video, see below  }


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Oh my… this is even worse than I thought…

No blog post today.
It was supposed to be about fears surrounding my status as a mistress, but I feel like I m going to have a heart attack just writing it.
One hour in, and everything hurts.
I’m going back to bed, and wait for it to pass.

See you tomorrow

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An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living


My diaries are available at LULU
New books will be added.

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready,
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Button on this page, probably on the top right.

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The Strange Habit of Mistresses and Their Lovers

At university, I almost exclusively had male friends. We were ten to one, male to female, so there was absolutely no reason for women to hang out together.
So we didn’t.
Which already gives you a clue who the mistresses will be when they grow up: they’re the ones who hang out with the boys.
And the wives are the ones who come out of nowhere to start hanging out with your boys.

By that time I had already selected my college sweetheart, and we would stay together until we were way over thirty. But every year at least one of my classmates would get into a relationship.
And we, I, would get to witness it.
Which was downright excruciating for me, because I couldn’t stand how those men gave away their power so fricking easily. They didn’t even TRY to stand their ground!
For Christ’s sake.

I know that whenever I tell women I am a mistress (don’t worry, I ve stopped doing that at least within the borders of the Kingdom of the Netherlands) I see women wonder, worry, go over in their minds:
“Oh my God, could my man be having an affair as well?!”
Short answer?

Not if you could barge into his messy bachelor cave, give his stove a proper scrub, clear out his closets, rearrange his furniture, and dump all his sports medals and souvenirs in the basement where he can go visit them on Sundays.

I did admire those women for their forwardness. My boyfriend was a little messy, but I didn’t foresee how bad it would get. Hoarding is a spectrum, and expresses itself by not having a system to manage your things, because you can still see the value of the object or how you might one day need it.

I met my boyfriend when we weren’t even twenty yet. He just came out of a relationship with his girlfriend from high school with whom he had practically been living together. At her place.
His room had not been used much until he became single and then became my boyfriend.

Initially he was very much into taking proper care of his things. He bought paint and new carpet. And even though he had to do everything by himself, and it was pretty hard to paint or put carpet in a small student room, when you have no place to leave your stuff:
He did it.
He really made himself a home.
He made it, not me.

So of course I was impressed and assumed that he could manage his life. And maybe his mental health did deteriorate later on, and that was the reason he started to create stacks of things and papers, unable to clear them out.
Or maybe it had always been his weak spot but didn’t become apparent until he was well into his twenties.
But no matter how bad it got, I never went through his things. And when we were living together I simply claimed my own room or my own desk, where he wasn’t allowed to put his stuff.

When our relationship stranded I confessed that it had worried me that our house or life would be taken over by his car parts, his tools, his old school books, his twenty ashtrays, and so on. That I had no idea if there was some kind of mechanism that would switch on if it got too bad.

Turned out that mechanism was called NEW GIRLFRIEND.

The woman who came after me was like a decluttering force of nature. I was impressed with how she handled it. This was a man in his thirties with a whole house to clear out:
It was completely next level compared to hooking up with my university friends when we were still in our early twenties and had few possessions.
This was impressive!

And right now I can so see that’s how it was meant to be.
“Those” women are such a blessing for men who drive themselves and others crazy by not being able to organize their lives.

And my boyfriend was very dutiful when it came to work, he had a stable income. He didn’t drink, he didn’t do drugs, he didn’t get into fights.
And he was a nice and fun person to be around with.
So it wasn’t like he wasn’t a wonderful partner: he was.
But he needed someone to take control over his life, and I had not done that in the fourteen years we had been together. Nor would I have ever done that if we had stayed together for fourteen more.
Because a mistress doesn’t do those things.

It’s so strange, because I didn’t know I was a mistress until I became one. But even this aspect, the way I behave versus the way normal girlfriends behave when handling a man’s stuff, speaks volumes on how we’re different.
Although I was emphatic, I never solved his problems for him.
The only thing I did was be clear on my boundaries.

Normal women see a problem they know how to solve, they take over that part of your life and do it for you.
And normal men let them and are probably very happy with it too. Giving up their sovereignty is a fair price to pay because together they can now achieve things they could not achieve on their own.
Manage a household.
Have children.

I was relieved my former boyfriend finally got someone who could help him cope with that part of his life. I saw she was asking a big price, for example he wasn’t allowed to see me anymore. But I didn’t take that personal.
If they ever breakup he knows he can contact me again. No hard feelings. Not at all.

She helped him out in an area where I had felt powerless. But the fact that she was jealous or suspicious of our friendship?
That was totally unnecessary.
Like I said: if you can barge into a man’s life and take over the wheel?
It’s not a cheater.

Now I do risk having to eat my words here, because “bad” men or “cheaters” are susceptible to women promising to save them from themselves…
And hand in their entire deviant life at the promise of being tamed.

But that is usually so short lived.

It is far more likely that a cheater is the one, who does stand his ground. Who didn’t get hitched in college but stayed single or swayed in and out of relationships until he was way over thirty.

The next time a woman wonders if her man is a cheater, I should probably ask:
“Would you dare clear out his closet without asking him?”
If the answer is “no” you should probably worry.

An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

{ to keep these little gems aka blogposts from hijacking my day I set the intention to write them in sixty minutes.
This one was written in written in 1 hour 45 minutes;
Plus half an hour of watching Sex and The City on Carry Bradshaw colonizing Big’s apartment by leaving her toothbrush and hairdryer. A story I ended up not using! 😀 


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The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready,
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In episode 11 of Season 2 Carrie colonizes Big’s apartment by leaving a blow dryer and a toothbrush. Which Big then casually returns to her!
Anyway, I couldn’t find that one on YouTube
But this one has toothbrushes in it as well.
Pro tip: if a man keeps new spare toothbrushes in the house, he’s a player.
You should probably keep him 😉

Four deliberate choices that accidentally led me to being a mistress

In retrospect it is all so logical.
Of course I was a secret mistress.
Of course this would be my preferred relationship form.
Of course seeing a man so little was going to keep me in love indefinitely.
Of course.

But the reality is that if you don’t have an example, a role model, it is practically impossible to know what you’re aiming for.
There is a saying in Ayurveda: your body can’t ask for flavors it doesn’t know.

It’s the same with relationships.

As long as you think a mistress is an unfortunate or evil woman who fell in love with a man who’s taken and the poor fellow can’t choose?
You’re not going to want to be that manipulative bitch or woman biting her nails in frustration.
But there is so much more to it.
Like most people I didn’t know that. I simply set one foot in front of the other, and nine years of unsatisfactory dating later, I was a mistress.
And a pretty damn good one.

Not so much technically.
I don’t think I possess anything that makes me a sex goddess, aside from relentless enthusiasm for role playing, if I get to play the submissive part.

That is literally the only thing I can possibly think of that could set me apart from other women. But there are so many men who don’t like that, or absolutely hate it. It barely counts as an asset to be that singular in your likes and dislikes.

So when I say I make a good mistress, I don’t mean I know any special tricks. Being a good mistress means (to me) that I m happy being the other woman. And although I can see it has serious drawbacks, they don’t outweigh the benefits for me.

So if I didn’t know this was the type of relationship that would ultimately suit me best, then how did I end up here?
I’m going to share which guidelines I used. They were my internal compass, from the moment I fell in love with a married man.

#1 choose love over fear

Fear has so many forms.
And they’ll probably all get triggered, the moment you fall in love with someone who’s taken.
Ego fears – that you’re not good enough unless he chooses you.
Fear of loneliness.
Fear of rejection by him and those around you.

“Fear” will have you settle for anyone readily available, who doesn’t bring that kind of baggage.
But only “love” will stay, regardless of the risks.
I never regretted it.

Like I said, I had been dating for nine years before I became a mistress.
I knew exactly how straining sex, dating, hanging out, being boyfriend and girlfriend, anything to putting your order in at the cafeteria, could be when you are with someone you don’t totally admire and are not absolutely fascinated with.

Nor he with you.

But this time I was with someone I actually liked, and he also liked me back!
After nine years of dating men who were often available, kind, and loving, yet with whom things ultimately always turned sour in some way because we didn’t love each other enough;
I now recognized Love immediately.
I wasn’t going to let Fear ruin my party.

#2 Don’t take love away from anyone. Not even yourself.

I’ll admit that when we started out I assumed it was a matter of weeks before he’d choose me. And although I stayed true to my own internal compass, and never pressed him to leave her, nor did I give him an ultimatum – in fact we didn’t even discuss the matter – I was disappointed.
It wasn’t easy to deal with not being The New Chosen One.
Until I realized how much damage it would do, if he actually did get a divorce. How he and his family would have to deal with that tragedy. It immediately became clear to me, that I never wanted that for anyone.
Not for him, and his family.
Not for me.

If his marriage wasn’t meant to be, then so be it. But I didn’t want to be a reason, much less The Reason, it stranded. I didn’t want to be the cause of unhappiness.
So I let their love be their love.
I kept giving him my love.
And receiving his.

This rule, to not take love away from anyone, has been the most important guideline.

#3 Play on his team

Anything that is important to him, is important to me.
Whether it’s work, or his family: I will not ask to be prioritized ever.
We had a children’s book with stories from Andersen, and it had a story:
What father does is always right.
About a man who made illogical decisions but ultimately made a lot of money because his wife stood beside him, and he took a bet that his wife would be delighted when he came home from a seemingly unfortunate deal he had made.
I am that “wife”:
I will never question my lover’s ability to make the right decisions.

#4 Don’t obsess over getting a giraffe

What I have is a loving relationship with the man I love, who loves me back, and after three and a half years I m still very much in love.
And yet.
So many people would trade that for having a loving relationship with someone they love, who loves them back and THAT DOESN’T EVEN EXIST.
They compare what they have, with something or someone that isn’t there.
I’m not saying you should settle. Never settle! Not when it comes to how much love there is between you, or how he makes you feel.
Don’t settle for someone whose order at the cafeteria you can’t stand.
But if you’ve found someone you like, and he likes you back, then why do you keep obsessing over getting one just like it, but single?
He’s not single!

I compare it to going on safari and you see hunting lions, and elephants with calf, the last white rhino and you get to play with the chimpanzees and yet you want your money back because you didn’t see giraffes.
You can only see a safari as successful if there were giraffes, and therefor didn’t enjoy any of the other animals.

Thinking your holiday was a failure because you didn’t see a giraffe,
or believing your love life is a failure because he’s not single?

They could both be considered a success, it just depends on how you look at it.

An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living

{ to keep these little gems aka blogposts from hijacking my day I set the intention to write them in sixty minutes. This one was written in written in 2,75 hours. }


My diaries are available at LULU
New books will be added.

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready,
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