well, at least i'm not boring. sigh.

Early in the week I began my search for date#11.  Begrudgingly I sent messages to random men whom I was absolutely certain, I had no interest in.  By Tuesday night I had set up date#11 and we decided to meet at Verve for coffee at 7:00 on Friday night.  At about 6:30 I left my house to accomplish the task at hand, I had a duty.  I felt ridiculous.  For the last two years,  I have made a daily practice of doing things I feel are good and right for me.  I wasn't so sure that this date fell into that category.  My moral compass is based on my gut and I avoid pursing anything that I know is not in my best interest.  The trouble is, I am torn about which is the right path to follow at this juncture. I said to myself over and over, sometimes out loud, “What the hell am I doing? What is wrong with me?” 

Before I left the house I had talked to date#10 who I will now refer to as mr.ten, on the phone.  He asked if I had a date set up, I said yes.  I asked him what his plans were for the evening, nothing he said, laundry probably........oh god, how could I hold back?  I wanted to be with him, not with the date I had lined up.  The usual  plan lacked luster when it came to meeting up with date#11.  I wanted to see mr.ten.  I put myself out there once again.  I felt awkward, silly and very vulnerable.  You wanna meet up after my date?”, I said.  “Yes”, he replied.  I told him I’d text him when I was done and  I expected it being a very short coffee date.  I suggested we could get dinner.  I got off the phone and my head began to spin.  What was I doing?  I was caught between reality and my feelings. How on earth was I ever going to continue dating, when I am so taken by this man who is truly receiving all I’ve got.   On one hand, I know I can’t give up the project.  It just doesn't seem like the right solution.   I am not willing to give up  writing the story  of this process or the fact that on some level I still believe it might be helping me to keep my eyes open and slow down the process of committing before I’m ready.  However,  I worry that this will push him away.  I am sacred of the fact that the project demands me to think and act differently.  It is very uncomfortable.  I find myself bargaining and brainstorming how to get out of the subsequent dates.  I mean, I can’t deny I am intensely into and intrigued by mr.ten.  Ultimately I decided to laugh hysterically at the position I was finding myself in, and ride the wave.  I obviously had no answers and the only way to get them is trial and error. 

I sat at the coffee shop looking out the window in anticipation of date#11.  I tracked the the minutes passing, 7:00,7:01,7:02, 7:03, I wondered how late he needed to be before I could just abort this mission?  I couldn’t remember his name or if he had even revealed  it to me in the first place.  I couldn't remember what he looked like either.  I needed to review my messages on my okcupid mobile app. just to refresh my memory.  He walked in the door, and the part where I would usually feel a sense of relief and think let the games begin, I thought ok lets get this over with.  He came over said hello and then got in line to get coffee.  He’s 28 but he looked about 19.  We talked about god knows what, but we did agree that meeting in person is the best way to navigate okcupid.  He mentioned that he joined okcupid a few years ago when he lived in Chicago.  He and his girlfriend wanted to open up their relationship.  He stated very boldly that it worked out better for him than it did for her.  He said that she developed a case of the “internet awkwards”.  I asked him to explain what he meant. He said “you're kidding right?” “No”, I replied.  He described it as having anxiety about not knowing how to start things up with a stranger you have never met.  I said that I had never felt that way, he looked at me in disbelief.  I was clearly challenging the commonality of his theory and he wasn’t too fond of my dissension.  He mentioned that he moved to Santa Cruz as a result of his life tumbling down into a routine of the mundane while living in the suburbs of Mountain View, upon returning to California. He explained that when he was in his late teens and early twenties, he was constantly meeting exciting people and experiencing synchronicities, that he deemed valuable and the only reason worth living.   Then one day, after he had turned 23 it all stopped.  According to him, his life had become boring.  The way he explained it, I had no idea what he was talking about.  I asked him what he thought caused this sudden change in events, and what did he mean by everything was boring?  “I got old”, he said.   Really, he got old at the age of 23? He looked at me sharply for criticizing his explanation.  Every time I asked him a question, I felt his eyes were saying, “just shut up and listen to me”.  So eventually I just sat there like a dead fish while he carried on about his dysfunctional family and how he was so different.  I excused myself to go to the bathroom and texted mr.ten to tell him I was ready.  I went back and took my seat on the stool across from date#11, a few minutes passed and when a lull in the conversation came, I made my getaway.  I’m pretty sure that this date would have been cut short regardless of my successive plans.  I wouldn’t have been willing to suffer through it.   “I’m going to go”, I said.  He looked surprised, slightly hurt and then smirked defensively.  That’s when the relief came.  I said very nicely that it was nice to meet him, and that I was grateful for his coming to meet me.  I felt solid and good about saying thanks, but no thanks.  I was proud  knowing that I had not let the dance go on for longer than necessary.   I got into my car and reached mr.ten on the phone, I told him I was on my way.  I felt so grateful to spend the rest of the night with him.  I blasted my music and drove over to his apartment, with a big smile on my face. 

Qualities of mr.ten, in no particular order.  He is open.  He listens to what I have to say, even when I think it sounds crazy or embarrassing.  He nods his head to show that he is listening and he understands.  He holds the sometimes delicate space for me when I get scared or nervous.  He doesn't make me feel like I am broken or damaged.  He didn't laugh at me when I had to begin tapping my body with my hands (something my therapist suggested) to stay present, when my body begins to release trauma during sex.  He waits.  He waits for me to come first.  He looks at me as if I hold every ounce of his melted heart in my hands, and I do.  When he squeezes, I squeeze back, when he exhales I collapse deeper into his arms.  When he moans I pay attention and tune in to what he is really saying.  He cradles my head in his big hands when we kiss.  He smirks and smiles back at me when my happiness bubbles over and I show him that I am falling.  No matter how afraid I am, I know he is worth it.  He reads into signs and signals just like I do.  He believes there is deeper meaning, even in every day objects.  I hope he doesn't break my heart.  I can’t hold back,  he over takes my consciousness.  Kissing him makes me weak in the knees, my stomach drops at the thought of his sweet tenderness and eagerness to please.  He is beautiful.  He is real,  even though I swear that I’m dreaming.

What would it look like if I were enough?  If I believed that I was worthy of love no matter what?  What if I wasn't under the false pretense that I had to perform or hide to feel secure when I like someone?  My ultimate goal is to love unconditionally without wanting in return.  I want to love him like that.  I want to give him everything I have.  I want the nagging feeling of anxiety to end.  The events and emotions that are transpiring are confusing, confounded and messy to say the least.  The difference this time is my honesty and my attempt to be present without fear and shame.  Also, this time I think he really cares.  Never in my life have I ever had a man light candles, put on nice music and eat with me by candlelight.  Never have I experienced a man talking to me as if he valued my listening and enjoyed my conversation.  I have never known a man to kiss me slowly and patiently await the next move.  We finished our amazing italian take-out dinner and sat on the couch and talked.  He explained in more detail his work and I began trying to receive a crash course in creating websites, dealing with servers and the complexity of datasets.  The conversation was stimulating.  We sat close hugging and kissing throughout.  Our conversation slowed and soon the kissing was interrupted by words instead of words interrupted by kissing.  Our passion heightened bit by bit incrementally, reaching higher levels of intensity then rebalancing, like an audio equalizer.  Our intentions became known.  Our emotions layered and continued to amplify until my feet met the floor, initiating our movement toward the bedroom.  Slowly and surely we fumbled backwards and in circles, with our eyes closed across the room.  The hunger in his touch lingered, leaving traces behind us.  I trusted him to keep my balance, the energy between us was our only means of propulsion as we drifted toward his big white bed.  His bed has become a sacred place of release.  A place to feel safe, a boat out at sea where no one else can reach me, nobody but him.  Somehow I can feel how much he likes me in his embrace and in his kiss.  The way he looks at me deeply, directly into my eyes.  He maintains eye contact at the most vulnerable and sensitive moments and I choose to keep mine open.  And this is why I feel like and idiot.   

There is a part of me that knows more will be revealed but the other part of me feels so wrong.  So I ask myself again why am I doing this project?  To prove that if it’s meant to be I can‘t fuck it up?  It’s supposed to be a safeguard to keep me from getting attached  to quickly, but I don't think its working.  The only thing I can do is keep going until it gets more clear.  I’m supposed to be proving to myself that I am a desirable candidate for a relationship and that I don’t have to settle.  To keep my eyes open and make a choice based on self awareness, experience and reality.  But I have to keep wondering, does it ever work like that?  Do I have any control over who I fall in love with?

Earlier that morning I was thinking about a conversation that mr.ten and I had.  He mentioned that his ideal living scenario would be to spend half his time in New York City, and the other half in Santa Cruz.  Which I found especially interesting because before finding Santa Cruz, I was going to move to New York City.  I have always loved New York and I have been trying to go back for a visit for the last few years, but haven't been able to make it work because of financial restraints and Lucy.  I got to thinking; for spring break I am going to book a trip to New York and ask mr.ten if he would like to join me.  Within seconds of that decision, fear of rejection, judgment and insecurities began funneling in perfect time into my consciousness.  What if he thinks it’s too soon for a trip like that?  What if he days no?  What if he lies about why he can’t go?  You’ll look desperate and stupid, my judgmental mind told me.  I retreated back to the basic premise of the project.  Act as if you will not be rejected.  Show him you're interested, and he’ll believe it.   And the complement, show him that you aren't interested and he’ll believe that too. I did know one thing, thinking about mr.ten sends an undeniable impulse throughout my entire body.  Here is yet another chance to show what I am made of with reckless abandon.  I cannot destroy this, I believe “true love cannot be found where it truly does not exist, Nor can it be hidden where it truly does”.  

I have spent my whole life believing that if I held back, I wouldn't scare them off.  I controlled and calculated text messages,emails and conversations, hoping that somehow they would be begging for more, but that never happened.  Maybe playing hard to get works for some people but conceder this;  if that’s what attracts them, what happens when you get got?  Well I’ll tell you, they’re on to the next woman who is harder  to get.  I decided to ask him. What’s the worst he could say? No?  Then I would go by myself.  He called and I asked, I felt my heart expand, inflate and rise to the bottom of my throat and when he said, “I can’t. I have to work and I just can’t get time away”, I felt the truth of reality set in.  I said I was sad but I understood and would go on my own.  

I have purchased tickets for my four day stay in NYC.  Upon clicking confirm icon, I did a big happy dance around my apartment.  Mr.ten often thinks about moments in his life he would want to revisit if he were dead.  This would be one of those moments for me.  I never knew I could connect like this before.  Who cares about fear of being hurt, being left or lied to.  Fuck it.  I can’t help what my heart is telling me. 

and i really like you back, and thats the way we keep on going, everyday

I found strength in dance. The following is a description of my first contact improv movement with a fellow classmate.  I had no idea how this experience would unfold and continue to enlighten me well after the physical contact between us had resolved:

In micro-movements we connected up to our shoulders, then our backs.  We paused to find our balance.  A forward bend in me meant a backward bend in him.  We continued to focus on the energy and static between us.  As we slowly connected internally, the surface area of where our external bodies touched increased.  Soon we were on the floor, my heart and stomach wrapped around his side.  Our centers of gravity had a magnetization that felt warm and heavy.  I felt a tremble in his skin.  I paused.  Is this ok? Can I do this? Is this safe?  I waited.  He didn't push me, he remained still.  I felt his secure containment of our energy, and I went deeper.  Deeper into my self, deeper into that black space of the unknown.  The abyss of surrender.  I felt the heat of his body, his muscles supporting my weight and his careful gauging of where to go next.  We found our ending.  Our continuous flow of inching movement slowly dissipated as energetically we checked in with each other asking where to go, and how to get there.  

The changes afoot are flipping behavior patterns in my relationships that I have been practicing for over 17 years.  I no longer find it necessary to be seduced by those who don’t regard me as possessing the ability to make time stand still.  The imprints left by my first primary relationships are fading and being replaced with blueprints for my future.   Which by design are more fulfilling and simply more fun.  I am finding thrill in surrender, not the chase.

The rain gently tapped the surface of my well loved umbrella, as I hopped over puddles to meet date#10 at Pono Hawaiian Grill.  The loud and lively restaurant was full of hip twenty-somethings whose weekend nightlife, was clearly about to begin.  I waited inside for his late arrival.  When he walked through the door I told him I was relieved that he strongly resembled his picture, due to my unrelenting fears of not being able to recognize each other.  He was tall and eyes were kind.  He just turned 28 and had a spry energy about him.  We stood at the counter and we’re about to order, when he said “Are you sure you want to eat here?”  I was glad he asked, because it was pretty noisy, and not very conducive to having a intimate conversation.  We walked outside to think about it. It was still pouring rain. He suggested the restaurant/lounge above the Red Room.  We headed in that direction and I opened my umbrella. Due to his height, the exposed spokes were pointed right at his eye level. If we became too close to each other I would have certainly impaled one.  We joked and laughed about the amount of skill required on my part, to not hurt him during our walk to our next destination.  We also discussed possible ways to repair my veteran umbrella.  On his profile he mentioned that he likes to write and keeps a journal. In our e-mails I told him I too was a writer, and he asked the nature of my writing.  I blew my own cover and revealed I was writing a blog.  He told me he was interested.  

As we were walking downtown looking for a suitable place to eat, he asked “So what are you bloggging about?  Your online dating?”

 “Yes”, I replied.  Geez, this guy really knew how to ask the right questions.  We laughed about how he was the first of all my dates thus far to to know about the blog at the beginning of the date.  Finally, after fifteen minutes of walking in the rain, we ended up at Shogun and ordered 4 rolls to share.  He explained that he grew up locally and went to UCSC majoring in Literature and Psychology.  We conversed about the usual subjects, connectedness, psychology and whats going on for me in school.  And since he knew about the blog, I mentioned, at times it was all consuming.  I explained, it had taken on a life of its own and some weeks I find it to be emotionally exhausting.  We sat at the restaurant until they closed.  I was having a great time.  I was also craving that physical closeness and was honoring the fact that I now looked at sex in a new light.  I wondered if it was appropriate to spend more time together alone.  He asked me if I had roommates, I said no.  I asked him if he had any, he said no.  “So does that mean we could go to your house to watch a movie?”, I said.  He looked at me surprised, “Would you want to do that?” he replied,  I said maybe.  We left the restaurant and I told him for safety sake, we should share his umbrella.  We walked back to his car.  We paused for a second and then he just grabbed me and kissed me hard.  It was quite romantic, standing in the rain, under his umbrella as we kissed and I began to feel the solid lines that separated me from him, blur.  His kiss was strong, but his lips were soft.  I had to tilt my head upward to kiss him and in doing so, I felt his inherent masculine influence radiating down upon me.  He asked me if I wanted to go back to his house.  I said yes.

We headed toward midtown and before I knew it we were pulling into the carport of his apartment building.  I suddenly realized that I had not been paying attention at all, and had no idea where we were.  He explained our location, but I thought it was so funny that the kissing chemicals had already set in.  We walked into his house.  It was a nice one bedroom with some Ikea furniture.  It looked lived in, but not messy.  We took a seat on his couch and we talked.  He lit a candle and we began to kiss.  He was into me.  He came on strong.  I liked him but I was beginning to get the feeling that I had activated a primal urge, and I was feeling left out.  I began to feel my self tense up.  I started to become uncomfortable.  In a burst of forward reflection, I thought to myself.  Here is a nice guy.  He is clearly interested in me and is attracted to me in a big way.  What’s going on inside me?  And what’s is my perception of whats going on with him?  I quickly came to the conclusion that “what was going on with him”, was that he really liked me.  He was not forcing himself on me, he was really into me.  I acknowledged that I typically feel more comfortable when a guy is not into me.  I feel more in control.  I weighed my options, do I want to pursue relationships with men that are genuinely interested me? or do I want to continue to go for guys who could care less about me, but as a trade off I feel less vulnerable? In that 3 second window I made my decision.  I want the guy that’s into me.  

I was found him alluring.  He was smart, driven, a great conversationalist and quite handsome. I thought how can I remedy the fact that this interaction, regardless of motives, was still making me slightly uncomfortable?  I told him it felt rushed.  He said he knew what I meant.  He said he wanted to take my clothes off but he knew, on some level that wasn’t the next step.  We continued kissing and I continued to fluctuate between landing on different levels of ease.  I knew If I told him I wanted things to stop, there is no doubt in my mind, that he would have arrested his actions completely and left it at that.  However I wanted him.  I liked him and and I wanted to feel sexually connected. 

He took up most of the length of the couch, from underneath his well supported weight I looked him straight in the eye and said “I can tell when your present and I can feel when your not”.  He looked at me with great consideration, contemplation and concern.  He told me, no ones ever said anything like that to him before.   “I need you to pay attention” I said. Then, he payed attention.  Everything slowed down.  When it got too intense for me, I pulled back and made eye contact with him.  He looked back at me as if he could sense an innocence in me.  And in turn I saw the innocence in him.  He clearly listened to what I had suggested and was a very quick study.  We continued to kiss and touch for hours.  It was intoxicating.  I felt my anxiety melt away.  I felt my power increase and grow.  I felt our movements were an even exchange of feelings, attraction and passion.  I felt the soft vulnerable, sweetness that happens between two people with a mutual liking.  Eventually we had sex.  There was never a moment when I thought to myself he is using me.  We were both there together, we maintained long periods of eye contact.  He gently pulled my hair at my request.  He was proving to me that I was all his.  That I was important to him.  For the first time I ever, I saw his confidence and desire for me as a welcomed term of endearment, rather than a threat.  He was on top, but he never crushed me with the weight of his body, he was conscientious of me.  I came. He came.  I saw a single drip of his sweat run onto my shoulder and down my arm.  It was beautiful.   We lay deep in one another’s arms.  We talked.  It felt as if we completely saturated each other.  

He shared a story of great loss and I broke all the rules of a first date by telling him all three secrets in a row.  He asked me if there were of any of my rules that we didn’t break.  I thought about it and said, nope.  We broke them all.  At 3:30 am my eyes were too weary to stay open and I lay my face on the center of his chest and I passed in and out of conciseness.  We fell asleep.  Early in the morning we woke up and the transgressions of the night before melded right into the light of day. I told him he was brave.  I was impressed that he could go through with what happened, knowing that I would be not only writing about what had transpired, but sharing it in a public forum.  That spoke volumes to me, this man has guts.  Eventually we got out of bed and I held his arm while we walked down the street to get coffee.  I became oriented to my physical location.  When we got back to his place, we returned to his bed and listened to music and talked. We had conversations that weaved in and out of our kisses.  It was almost as if our affection was as effortless and comfortable as breathing.  He told me he has never been the type to wish for a day completely in bed, but was beginning to reconsider.  I made a joke about Yoko Ono and John Lennon.   He held me, my back pressed to his chest and my curves nestled into his shape.  Then without even thinking about it I exhaled, “I like you”.  He said “I like you too”.  He said I’d have to be a pretty good actress to fake all that I had displayed.  I revealed to him that I am incapable of faking anything.  He said we should do this again.  I got up from his bed and blurted “my favorite, sex drunk” as I stumbled around the corner to the bathroom.  He loved the sentiment and said that if it wasn’t so exposing he would have posted the quote on twitter. In hind sight, I wondered had he forgotten what got us on this date in the first place?  Anyway, when I came back,  we talked about things we would like to do in the future, like an up coming concert at the Civic Center and T.V. marathons we would like to watch together.  I showered at his house and got dressed.  As I was putting on my boots I realized, the last time I stayed over night at a “strangers” house, I was drinking in my early twenties.  I noticed in that moment something felt different.  He noticed the look on my face and I told him what I was thinking.  I said the difference was, these days I no longer felt the shame.  I felt no remorse for what we had done.  It was good.  It was healthy.  It was natural.  He drove me home and I got out of his car and went straight to work.  But as the day wore on I began to worry, what if he’s really not that into me?  What if I get rejected?  What if I have to suck it up one more time?  All of my fears of abandonment began pounding on the door.  I had to remind myself that I am practicing seeing where this road takes me.  My feelings are meant to be felt. I still need to be in reality and ignore the stories I create in my head.  I am following the path that this project is revealing to me.  I am learning a lot.  My procedure and rules are being tested and compromised.  I am feeling shaky about not knowing how I will navigate this process with the prospect of a relationship worth pursuing.  But as I said, the universe is unfolding as it should, and I can not predict what lies ahead.  I do know one thing.  I am committed to finishing the project and keeping my eyes open.  Date#10 told me at dinner that he too is working on not getting into a committed relationship too soon.  Which I think is convenient and works out well.  I have no idea how my body is going to be able to hold all of these feelings, let alone process them.  I am like a ripe piece of fruit that has been peeled and is letting down all it’s sweet juices, i.e. the contents of my head. I must let go and let gravity do all the work.

from the ranks of the freaks who suspect they could never love anyone

His profile picture was beautiful; a sepia tone closeup of his face.  A rush came over my body as his eyes transcended my screen. His image conveyed multiple layers of feeling and expression.  My senses flooded with his passion and piercing masculinity.  Wandering through the foreground was a strong presence of contentment while an essence of humor and sensitivity lingered behind.  All of his emotion swirled inside my mind, like a drift of snow being blown about by a gust of wind.  I felt every cell in my body spiral downward. His gravitational pull eased, as each landed one by one. Then slowly they floated back to their position of origin.  I couldn’t stop looking at it. His eyes were so deep and breathtaking. To my recollection, I have never been so taken by a portrait.  I fell in love with that picture.  

We talked on the phone the next morning and he told me he was in the mood to get out of town.  I said the same.  I went out on a limb and asked if he wanted to go to the city (San Francisco), for our Friday night date.  He said yes.  The tone of his voice gave me the impression that he may have been depressed, it was low and somewhat flat.  However, it had a calming effect on me. He is a photographer and has a Bachelors of Science in graphic design.  I told him that I liked the work I saw after clicking the link to his professional website.  He sounded flattered and surprised.  

That night I wandered the internet trying to find something for us to do.  I stumbled upon a play called “Beyond Therapy”.   It’s about two people in search of meaningful relationships.   Following the advice of their respective therapists, they both place personal ads.   Their date is a disaster, but some how they keep re-entering each others lives.   As it turns out the therapists have significant problems of their own.  I asked him if he’d be willing to see such a play, and he thought it would be funny and perfect too.  I could tell he had an open mind and a sense of adventure.

Thursday night we text messaged, while I was baking cookies, to form a loose itinerary  for our date.  I told him I would make a few extra for him. He said “Id love you for that”,   I thought that was pretty  strong language and in hindsight, an ironic gift to bring on this date.  Anyway, he struck me as a dark angel type.  His portfolio pictures were very dramatic and he listed Nine Inch Nails and the Deftones (which happens to be my favorite band of all time) as some of his favorite music.  I pictured him wearing eyeliner.   

Friday night I left work running out the door.  I am very punctual and wanted to ensure I would have enough time to get to his house, get to up to the city and maybe grab a bite to eat together before the show.  When I pulled up to his place he was standing outside flagging me down, since I had a little trouble finding the exact address.  I wasn’t quite sure it was him at first.   That’s the man I had seen in the picture?  He seemed disheveled and slightly unenthused.  I got into his car and we started driving.  There were moments of quiet during the car ride and he said he was perfectly comfortable with silence, and frankly so was I.  He had a mix of music on his ipod that included, many of my favorite Deftones songs.  He enlightened me by explaining the meaning  behind my favorite song of all time.  We approached the city.  I saw the skyline light up in shapes of rectangles and squares.  He commented on the beauty of such a sight.   

Once we got a little deeper into the city, we had to stop in a line of cars going up a hill of about 45 degrees.  We both clenched our teeth and squinted our eyes, as his tires squealed to make it up, and over the crest.  I laughed hysterically.  We were quite a pair.  We found a sushi restaurant right around the corner from the theater and had dinner.  In the middle of our meal he said  “well I might as well tell you now...”, 

 “that’s a great intro,  sounds exciting”  I said “...what is it?  He told me that he had experienced a nervous breakdown in December.  He has PTSD and it all finally caught up to him.  He lives with his brother in the same building as his mom, since leaving Portland as a result of his emotional state.  The funny thing was, I understood.  I have had many of those breakdowns.  However, I knew that going back to my family was never an option.  He is wounded.  

We left the restaurant and walked over to the playhouse. The Shelton Theater is an old, multilevel building on Sutter Street. The musty space contained a very small stage,  sat about  30 people and was in the basement of the building.  We originally sat in the back, but I felt my claustrophobia begin to flare, so we moved up.  We were 3 feet from the stage, close to the door.  The play was well...interesting to say the least.  It was a riot of dramatic yelling, screaming, severely dysfunctional therapists breaking every ethics rule in the book, and a collision of internal confusion between the two main characters,  Bruce and Prudence.  It came at us like a pie in the face.  This play was a hot mess on stage.  It was funny.  I kept looking for the deeper meaning being that it seemed to focus on a a slightly kismet topic.  One underlying message was, when it comes to psychological problems, it is all in the way you look at them.  You can either laugh in spite of yourself or let them get you down.  Second, go with what you feel.  And third, stop looking for the perfect partner because they don’t exist.  

That night I kept searching for the man I had seen in the picture.  When he smiled, I saw him.  When he laughed, I saw him. But in between those moments were periods of flat lining emotion.  On the way home we talked about the play.  We discussed the fact that there really wasn’t such a thing as the “perfect person”.  He told me he has a pattern of falling in love with women who drink a lot.  I told him I have the habit of falling in love with people who don’t love me back.  I hypothesized that we all have a perfect piece. I said that one of his perfect pieces, so far as I could tell, was his art. Each person possesses many pieces of perfection, just not all the pieces at once.  He also said that each person’s definition of the perfect piece was subjective.  I agreed.  He wondered if everybody experiences depression, at some point in their lives, or if it was just him?  I said that every human being will suffer.  They will feel hopeless, lost and alone.  Whether it’s because of a lost love, a lost life or a lost child, nobody makes it out of here pain-free.  “I wish more people could acknowledge that,” I said, “because then we would realize we are way more similar than we are different”,.  He seemed impressed by my theory. He said it felt good to talk about his depression and know that I wasn’t secretly judging him.  

He turned up the music really loud.  We were cruising down the freeway at 70 miles per hour.  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. My limbs went numb. My heart melted into the back of my seat. My world went black.  I sat there witnessing my desire for control rise and fall, like waves lapping on the sand.  He had control. Whether he knew it or not, he held the safe space for me to exhale and surrender.  I felt the piece of me that wants to be held, surface.  I let go.  I let it all go.  I was present in the moment, there with him.  I felt lucky to be alive and breathing.  I was grateful for the companionship.  My breath was steady.  When I opened my eyes, I looked down at his  grey gloves that stopped just below the first knuckle of his fingers. I wanted so badly to reach over and hold his hand that was resting on his leg just above his knee, with my red fingerless mittens. I kinda wish I had.   

I sat there pondering whether or not to act on my impulses.  I considered what the crazed therapist in the play would have done.  She of course, would have done it, and  done it with gusto.  But I wasn't sure I wanted the consequences of that action.  I didn’t want him to think I was all the way in, because I wasn’t.  I used to think that liking was black and white.  I either liked them or I didn’t .  Now I see incredible shades of grey, that allow for a great amount of detail.  And I have to ask myself, what is the nature of this liking? Is it pure or is it spurred by pity and codependency?  We do have the capability of bringing each other out of the depths of our own personal hells and when we do it, how can we tell if we are really practicing love and compassion?  If we help, listen, and give to others, not because someone told us to, or because its our duty,  but because we truly feel empathy for the other person and their unique experience, we are doing right by them.  Pure love and compassion means having respect for the individual and their feelings.  It has nothing to do with our own personal agenda, conscious or otherwise. 

I could’t shake the feeling that I found him strangely attractive. I wondered how much of my impulses are safe to act out on when it comes to other people and how they will react?  I don’t want to be looked at as a tease, or using them for my own personal pleasure.  It goes back to the question I asked concerning sexual motives.  Is it okay to kiss someone knowing that a committed relationship seems unlikely, and kiss them anyway just because I want to?  When we reached his house, he pulled right up to my car and without putting his own gear in park, we said goodbye.  When I got home I checked my phone and he had texted me to see if I made it back alright.  He also said he didn't mean have me get out of out if the car so quickly.  I said that’s ok.  

There I was standing on the ledge again, pondering if I should jump or not.  I jumped.  I texted, “had you parked the car, I would have kissed you”.  He responded with a light hearted “really?”, he thought he was off his game. But he said,  if that was the case he might have to make a visit to Santa Cruz.  I told him “I guess your game works, even if you are depressed”.  

He replied, “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Hmm”.  I thought about that statement.  Was I leading him on?  No, I was revealing the connection I felt with him.

When I was 21 years old I met a guy at the bar.  We left together and went back to his place, right down the street.  I don’t remember a lot of the details of that night except,  eventually I divulged that I had been seriously depressed and suicidal for the last year and was on medication.  I shared that I felt hopeless, and there was no point to anything anymore.  He told me how in the last year he was diagnosed with cancer and had surgery to remove the tumor form his brain.  He was 24 years old.  He told me that he understood what it felt like to be scared to live, and scared to die. We talked for hours. We didn’t sleep together.  That was the first time ever in my whole life that I ever felt like I wasn’t alone.  I woke up the next morning feeling like there was someone else in the world that understood what I was going through.  I had a renewed sense of desire to carry on.  

Saturday night I am usually finishing up my writing for that week’s date but last night I couldn't do it.  I felt the story was not over yet.  I wanted more, more of him.  I texted him and asked him if he wanted to come over.  He did and he left sometime late this morning.

i felt it. i know i did.

I saw it.  I know I did, from across the table, he looked into me.  I saw it.  I know I did.  I felt my eyes absorb his gaze.  It rushed to the back of my neck and slid down my spine.  It felt so good.  I remembered what it felt like to be loved. The warmth of his smile, and the tilt in his posture made me want to curl up in his arms right there at the table.  His face was kind, and his disposition tender.  Spark. Spark. Spark.  We began our dinner date by discussing psychology, research and where I planned on taking my career.  He recently decided that he would like to pursue interests that differ from where he focused his education.  A few years ago, he came to the realization that he was lost.  He was not living an authentic life. He had never followed his own interests, and had been living his life according to what others had wanted for him.  I completely understood.   Our food came and sitting in front of him was practically the biggest burrito I had ever seen.  He ate half of it and said he was pretty full and debated eating the other half.  As we kept talking he polished off the whole thing.  I said I was impressed.  We talked for a couple of hours about the process of “coming into our own”.

Years ago I was on a date with a guy who spent a few hours telling me about his dreams, aspirations, and accomplishments.  When it was my turn to share about myself, I had nothing to say.  I felt embarrassed, awkward and empty.  I knew that part of why that relationship floundered and died was because I was an empty shell of a person.  I didn’t acquire enough self-esteem to do anything about it until years later.  I needed to  break away from the “support group” I mentioned last week.  Upon doing so, I began to discover what I really liked. Once I was no longer spending every moment of my free time, reflexively and routinely attending group gatherings, I had a lot more space to pursue other interests.  This was the beginning of the emergence of ‘me’. I became acquainted with a ‘self’ that I had never met before.  I unveiled the potential that everyone kept alluding to.  For the first time in my life, I felt I had the capability of reaching out and fulfilling that potential.  Over time I realized the value of connecting physically to my spirituality and I began practicing yoga.  I acknowledged that I was responsible for Lucy and my own financial well being and re-entered college.  I found healthy ways of dealing with my anxiety and began running long distances.  I manifested my visions of creativity.  Instead of placing my ideas in the “someday I will create” space in the corner of my mind,  I took action and literally painted the picture I saw in my head. Painting became a release for unrequited love.  And if that wasn't enough to funnel my passional nature, I began performing contact improv with an incredible community of extremely talented dancers. Dancing heals me to depths I could never have imagined.  And of course I write, which has become one of my greatest forms of expression.   All of these callings have helped me feel more comfortable in my skin and have enabled me to open up to others.  

Date#8 stated the dilemma perfectly. He really wanted to be loved for being his authentic self, but realized suddenly that even he didn’t know who that was.  We shared our stories.  We were real.  We exposed our underbellies in a general way, and I felt we equally disclosed our fears concerning self acceptance, and deepening our connections.  We shared the same perspectives on shame, vulnerability and surrender.  I knew exactly where he was in the “coming to” process.  

I was thrilled about our shared views when it came to personal growth and self-actualization.  I began to contemplate a relationship with him.  There is a part of me that wants to get lost in the fantasy of believing that he will be my next boyfriend, but this project is about honesty and self-discovery.  I am not doing myself any favors by ignoring red flags.  In addition, I also want to point out that I am not a mind reader, nor am I a psychic.  I am not convinced that I am right about any of the observations I am about to describe concerning this date.  Discussing this date with a close friend, helped me to muddle through some of my confusion and feelings of unrest that came up for me after the date ended.  

As a culture we praise individuals for their displays of compassion and selflessness, but what happens when those efforts become compulsive?  As human beings we exhibit some of the most bizarre perversions of behavior in order to achieve a emotional state of numbness.  I am talking about addiction.  Specifically codependency, perhaps the root of all other addictions. Different types of addiction have contrasting levels of social acceptability.  In other words, not all compulsive behaviors produce the same external consequences.  But the story from the perspective of the addict themselves is always the same; a swirling cycle of craving, satiation and overcompensation followed by some manifestation of shame and guilt. Let me put it this way, the cycle always follows this progression, the craving, the chase, the high, the chase, the crash.  This repeats until the binge is over. 

At dinner he admitted he was an overeater and has had struggles with codependency.  He is not overweight now, but has been in years past.  The truth is, I assumed he was in recovery, but looking back I don’t recall if he ever mentioned the state of his issue or if it was still a persistent problem.  We spent along time at the restaurant and eventually we left and took a stroll down Pacific Ave.  From his wallet, he pulled out a picture of himself from when he was overweight. He showed it to me.  He said he carries it with him to remind himself of where he has come from.  We were talking about his struggle and I explained I have a bit of a sweet tooth myself.  When suddenly he stopped, and gave me a look I found difficult to interpret.  He nodded his head toward The Cookie Company.  I was still very full, but we walked over and he and I both ordered cookies.  I ate about two bites and then put the rest back in the paper bag and put in in my pocket.     We continued walking and we were approaching where he parked his bike.  I asked if he wanted to continue to hang out. I said we could go to my house since it was just a few blocks away and it was absolutely freezing outside.  He agreed.  

It is possible that, what I am about to propose is not the explanation for what I began to feel, but given the circumstances I must look into it. 

Up until we got back to my house, I felt some great chemistry with him.  I sensed a mutual excitement about meeting each other.  But upon coming inside I felt a shift.  I felt like he was uncomfortable energetically.  It seemed like he honestly still liked me, but he seemed distracted.  Like the person I was talking to at the restaurant was no longer the person I saw sitting in my living room. I know the conversation was still open, but his body language was indifferent.  Did he think I was being too forward?  Was he suddenly not into me cause I told him about Lucy?  (I had to since he would notice the toys) Things started to feel different.  I felt like, the space where the mutual liking once was, now held a strange feeling of withdrawal and slight disinterest.  It wasn’t in anything he said.  He was sitting back comfortably in my rocking chair as I kept sending various subtle body signals that I was interested.  That moment of physically moving closer never came.  Finally he said it was getting late and got up.  He walked straight toward the door and said “give me a hug”.  I did but it felt sharp and empty.  I kinda got the feeling that he didn’t want to see me again.  It’s totally possible that upon getting to know me he just didn’t like me.  I was confused. 

Here is where I feel conflict.  I really liked him.  However, he evoked some pity in me.  Red flag.  I over-identify with his struggle. Red flag.  I (on some level) believe I can help him.  Red flag.  If food addiction truly has the same template as alcoholism, I am certain what happened on our date was the equivalent of meeting for a couple of drinks (huge burrito), leaving the restaurant, discussing his alcoholism (food addiction) and then stopping at the bar (cookie company) for  couple more “drinks” (cookies).  I fulfilled my usual codependent role, and ordered a cookie (that I didn’t really want) so I would’t feel so awkward about his disclosures. (i.e the non-alcoholic ordering a drink but not actually drinking it, in efforts to avoid making the alcoholic feel uncomfortable).  The shift in energy happened shortly after the food happenings, and I know that my experience with alcoholism has shown me that Dr. Jekyll / Mr.Hyde personality changes occur shortly after the hit of the addictive substance.  The timing makes sense.   

This date has a severe element of sadness for me.  I’d like to think that my perceptions are wrong and that I’m making this all up, but If I’m really being honest with myself, I know that my instincts are correct.  I was on a date with an active addict.  The trouble is, in the beginning everything felt so promising.  He was smart, very attractive, easy to talk to.  I felt the feeling was mutual.  We have a lot in common in terms of the quest for becoming ones authentic self and finally acknowledging who we are.

It seems like we are different places in our recovery.  I think he is headed in the right direction, however I want to meet someone where they are, and not where I think they could potentially get to eventually.  Because I know that where I expect someones recovery to take them, is not where it will actually go.  No matter how capable I think he may be.  I am torn as to whether I would go out with him again.  If he even asked me out on another date. This one was very bittersweet.