sometimes you fall and you don’t get hurt

Sometimes you fall and you don’t get hurt

The last few days have been emotional peaks and valleys, concentrated on being present and the lessons to be learned.  I fluctuated between panic and anxiety and reaching little plateaus of solution. 

My mind is a trap of quicksand.  My initial affection for date#16 has begun to slope slowly toward feelings of insecurity and obsession.  I began to doubt his liking me after the third time we slept together.  Ever since I was 13 years old, about the age when I started to kiss boys, I have struggled with an overwhelming sensation that my affections are not, or will not be adequately reciprocated by the individual I have deemed “the one”.   While a little bit of hesitation at the beginning of a new relationship is to be expected, my fears turn into an obsession that consumes my every thought and prevents me from being present in my actual life.  When I was younger, it would stop me from doing anything for myself and I would be completely pre-occupied by only wanting to spend time with the person of my affections.  I neglected chores, homework, school, work, any activity I had planned with friends.  My desire for attention and affection was insatiable.  My actions would reflect this attitude and I would become needy, clingy and helpless. By doing so, I attracted men and women with leaky boundaries.  Someone who would allow me to latch on to them and suck them of any independence or interest in maintaining their own identities at the hands of my manipulation.  Inevitably this dynamic became uncomfortable for them and they would have to start retaliating, usually by blocking out my affection or retracting emotionally and physically.  Which of course made me want to attach even more. I was looking for a fix not a companion. So over the next 15 years I learned how to repress the actual outward behavior which had become too shameful and so obviously unproductive.  I developed an equally unhealthy new coping skill, to make up fantasies of how I believe the other person feels about me so that I won’t have to face the inevitable disappointment of them walking away.  

My solution to rejection was to be in denial.  It begins with an innocent attraction, but soon I preemptively assume that they don’t like me and I become self conscious and shy. In defense, instead of accepting my hunch I make up fantasies of how little gestures, signs from the universe and uncanny coincidences prove the contrary, which of course has no basis in reality and is completely fabricated in my mind.  When David said he did’t feel the same way about me I said I didn’t believe him.   If I string the fantasy along, I never have to deal with the reality of rejection.  These stories are intended to give me hope that they do like me after all, regardless of all evidence to the contrary.

Sunday:

I can’t believe it. Deep breath.  How did this happen?  How did I become so all consumed by making up stories about how I think things are, or how I think they should be?  It’s humbling to say the least.  Digging deeper, deeper and deeper.  My mind is playing tricks on me.  The line that separates reality from fantasy is blurring so quickly that I am losing all sight of it.  I am starting to panic.  I rifle through my mind to see what I can possibly do to relieve this anxiety.  I believe we are meant to be together.

I really hate to admit that.  I have surrendered to the fact that I cannot change him.  I can not fulfill the fantasy of us “being happy together”  by hoping that someday, he finds meaning in more stable work, releases his codependency with his ex-girlfriend, or that he will one day find the benefit of using soap.  So I ask myself,  Isn't there a way I can be sane and maintain a connection to him also?  I don’t know. Right now I am falling vicim to obsessive thinking and anxiety concerning him and his reciprocated affection.  If only I could cure my obsessive compulsive nature.  It is something that I have struggled for a long time.  I guess the solution is to tell him my fears.  To come back to earth and make him real again.  This is not about him.  This is about me. 

Some people consider this overanalyzing a form of torture in itself.  The reason I brainstorm different solutions is because I am trying to fulfill my main goal of a peaceful and tranquil existence, full of light and love as well as helping others heal.  I would like to do this consciously.  I would like to live as a spiritual being in my human body.  I find it interesting that if I am really paying attention, there are opportunities for healing all around me.  

On Sunday I took Lucy to the boardwalk.  We waited in line to go on her favorite ride the Cave Train.  The ride takes you on a magical journey through a day in the life of a Neanderthal on a bad acid trip.  The cave figures are covered in neon accouterments with black lighting.  Loud creepy, funhouse type music blares as you make the rounds through their underground and creepy existence in a train car.  The perfect recipe for a panic attack, in my opinion.  This ride usually conjures up feelings of claustrophobia and extreme discomfort for me but being that is is Lucy’s favorite ride, I have been on it at least 10 times this year already.   While we were waiting in line, thoughts of him were stirring in my mind.  I felt myself tempted to withdraw from him in my head.  I fear being too much, I find absurd solace in believing I should let him do all the work.   I texted date#16 to see if he wanted to come over the following day and bake banana bread and possibly go surfing.  I felt good about it.  Instead of playing conversations in my head about how I want him to be, I can actually make plans to do something with him and then see where that takes us.  Coming back into reality is very helpful.  As soon as I pushed the send button, my obsessive compulsive thinking began spinning around in my head, wondering what he would say and when I would get a response.  

If he really liked me he’d respond right away

but if he responds right away, the how can I maintain 

the facade that I am good enough

anxiety

I feel like I am on the tilt-a-whirl 

I am supposed to be present with Lucy but all I can think about is him

ah relief....he says yes....I feel better.

The cave train arrived and Lucy and I boarded. I had my headphones in and was listening to music.   I put my arm around lucy and as the ride started I closed my eyes.  My eyes were closed right as we entered the cave.  I could feel myself go deeper inside, to get grounded I embraced the fear and my vulnerability. My little pustules of anxiety were brimming, ready to irrupt.  I felt my body being lead through the path of the tracks, and sensed the twists and turns the rumbling underneath my feet.  Yet, I knew I was safe in my car.  I went deeper inside my inner stability and trust in my ability to stay calm.  I knew that eventually I would come out the other side. I knew that eventually we would emerge from that cave into the light of day again. I knew that if I became grounded, I would ride this track through in it’s entirety.  There was a beginning and there was an end.  An obvious metaphor for the obsessive and compulsive thinking I get around date#16.  I must get grounded.  I visualize myself, legs strong, feet rooting down into the earth.  My solution to pangs of anxious sickness? I need to connect to all things real and solid.  

obsessive: feverish, fanatical and is connected to egotistical and self centered

not obsessive: adjusted, balanced, sane, stable, altruistic, humble, modest, reserved, selfless, unpretentious

One of the things I can do is make a list of all of the things that show I possess these non-obessive qualities already:

adjusted - left the life of fast money and work hard at       my job and in school

balanced - I make time for myself to dance, rest, downtime at night write and  I am gentle with myself when it comes to romance. 

sane - looking at my feelings the causes and how I can remedy them and caring about how my feelings affect others

stable - have always provided for lucy, sober, make conscious choices

altruistic - healing others while dancing, being a good listener

humble - talking to the universe, 

modest - ok, so not very modest

reserved -........ .or reserved

selfless - everything I have done for Lucy

Fuck being human is hard.  What a  condition. 

After thinking about it I know what I need to say.

letter I will not send:

Dear Date#16, 

I have feelings, deep rooted, intense feelings, and I have concerns.  I don’t feel safe in fully expressing my feelings, knowing that you are grieving your ex-girl friend.  I have concerns because of your chosen lifestyle.  I am amazingly attracted to you in every way.  Physically, emotionally, intellectually, spiritually.  But the person I want to commit my life to and grow a relationship with needs to have more of their outsides put together as well as the amazing connection we are feeling.  I can’t foresee a painless solution here.  I am torn because already I am thinking I want you to be with only me.  I don’t want to hide or burry those feelings.  I felt it when I saw your eyes narrow, then widen and transmit 1000 pounds of emotion into me in about one second.  I hope I never forget that feeling.  It is definitely to date, the most intense and intimate interaction I have ever had with anyone in my entire life.  The pitfalls of what I may experience if I continue on with you scare me.  I am going to tell you all of this and see what you have to say but I’m pretty sure it will end in some form of good bye.  It’s unfortunate because you would have been a really great friend.  I just can’t handle the anxiety I feel about you experiencing your grief and how our lifestyles are so radically different.  I’d like to put the offer out there to check in in six months and see where you are at but that seems daunting as well.  That kiss on my bed.  The way I felt when you gave me those eyes. I never felt anything like it before.  Such a beautiful soul and human being.  I wish this could last.  I think I would have too much anxiety.  Unless you said you felt the same way.  I cant possibly see how you could make a statement like that right now, but I am also not a mind reader.  I cannot predict what you will say.  I guess the difference now is that I don’t deny my feelings.  I used to suppress the truth in order to stall for time to find ways to manipulate the situation to get what I wanted.  Now I just have to be me.  My tolerance for fear and anxiety is just to low.  I cant bear it.  

me

I’m trying to sleep but I cant.  My heart is breaking.  I read that this is just a symptom of the fantasy, but I’m having a hard time believing that it’s that clinical.  I haven't ever had anyone hold me like that. If I have, it was so long ago and I wasn’t nearly as present as I am now.  I have been lonely for so long, so when he was here it just felt so good.  It was different from mr.ten, completely different. 

I believe in love, I do.  I believe that pain and love go hand in hand, until you find the one.  I can only do what I can do.  I try to love freely and without restraints.  I need that love to comeback to me.  I need it.  I must have it.  It is an essential part of keeping open.  I will give it.  I will freely love, in every way, the one who I can walk my edge with.  I wont just walk my edge, I will dance it.  They must want my love, that is the lesson this week.  I will give this kind of love to those who want it.  It is a very important part of the circle.  It is not only about looking for the person who can give it back to me, but the person who is willing to receive it.  A mind blowing desire to give it and a certain gravity that makes it effortless as well.  These are the kinds of things I over think, overanalyze and obsess over.  To decide how to do this is what life is made of.  This is what art is made of, this is what sweetness is made of.  

Monday Morning:

I woke up this morning feeling a lot less neurotic than I did last night.  I opened my eyes and the most important thing on my mind was my first cup of coffee, not whether he returns my affections.  Next, after that cup (or six),  Lucy and I went for a bike ride on the west cliff and we stopped to watch the surfers.  When I got home I checked my okcupid profile and began searching for any guy who lives in Santa Cruz who surfs.  I think I was padding myself for the inevitable separation that I am convinced is just around the corner.  On that bike ride my mind was a maze. 

Saw him again last night.  So we talked, and we had sex,  and we talked.  The good news is that I feel no closer to making a bad unrealistic decision about where this is going, than I did yesterday.  But, I do feel that I was heard.  I am willingly sighing up for anything that is coming my way. I can’t help what I feel.  I guess on some level I believe that we will work out.  As foolish as that may seem at this juncture.  But he said that he could feel it too.  What I saw in his eyes.  I wan’t hallucinating.  He said he couldn't imagine not hanging out with me.  I said that I saw myself looking at him for a very long time. I want  prolonged exposure to the soul of my choice.  It was a look of recognition.   

Monday night:

I had sushi with my friend Ikumi, as I was explaining to her how I was going to navigate this situation, my anxiety, and the feelings I was having, I was distracted by two goldfish that were swimming around each other in circles in the huge fish tank next to our table.  They were swimming around in a circle so fast,  you couldn't tell who was chasing who.  She pointed out how these two particular fish seemed more vibrant than the others.  

Later that night, I picked him up:

He got in the car.  He told me he had been with her.  I held it.  “I think Im too old for this” I said. He said he was to old for it too.  I felt my legs, give out even though I was sitting down.  “Can we listen to music really loud on the way home? and not talk”, I asked. “Oh god yes please” he said.  I began driving.  I focussed on the road and had both hands on the steering wheel, blankly staring straight ahead out into the darkness.  I was still.  I was careful to take the winding turns out of there slow and steady.  I was glad we couldn’t see each other.  I felt those deep bass drops in the music enter my body and flush my soul.  I felt his pain and I felt mine.  I was becoming smaller, but not shrinking, just very concentrated.  I kept my eyes on the road and let the music take us out of our heads and into our bodies.  The steady rhythm sank me deeper into a place of meditation and I took a number of deep breaths.  I kept my hands to myself.  I pulled into my parking spot and, I asked him what he wanted to do.  He said he didn’t know, his head was swimming.  My empathy was heightened and I was tuned into what he needed.  

“Do you want me to give you a massage”, I asked. 

“Yes.  Are you an angel?

 “Yes”, I replied.  

We went upstairs and I adjusted the lights.  I told him to lay down.  He asked me how I got so nice.  I told him “I was beaten into it.  I know what it feels like to suffer, I have been beaten into compassion”.  I wanted to give, not receive.  I wanted to give him kindness because he needed it.  I care about him and right there in that moment he needed to be loved, cared for and supported.  I consciously massaged him.  I was available to support him experiencing his feelings and be a witness to his transformation, as he grieves his changed life circumstances.  I rubbed his feet, his head, his whole body, bit by bit like a real masseur.  I covered the parts that were resting with a soft grey blanket.  In hind sight, touching him in that way helped me move through a significant amount of grief as well.  I finished by burning sage and wafting the clearing smoke over his softened, warm hearted body.   He looked at me.  It happened again, while his blue ocean eyes stared back at me.  Our eyes met and softly locked, like a door knob turns to hitch the latch.  We held the gaze, it was intense but it felt so good.   It’s like when the lens is shifted during an eye exam and everything becomes clear, except this shift made me feel as if 40 years had gone by, and I was still looking into his eyes.  

I am learning how to get grounded.  Every time I feel a little pang of anxiety come up, I close my eyes take a deep breath and imagine my feet rooting into the ground.  As I exhale I imagine all of my anxiety leaving through my feet and allowing me more capacity for love, forgiveness and detachment from obsessive compulsive thinking.  

Tuesday afternoon:

At this moment I am thinking 52weeks52dates is the stupidest thing I have ever done, setting myself up on purpose no less, over and over and over.  

I called Ikumi.  I was crying, I told her that I could’t very well live like this.  I knew the truth.  I knew that he was not over his ex and I knew that he was not going to magically drop his grief.  I must have told her I was sad at least 10 times in between sobs.  There were certain things about him that I just couldn't imagine letting go of.  Sure some of the things were on the outside, but most of what I like about him is on the inside.  I liked the way he talked.  I got an incoming call and told Ikumi I had to go.  

It was him. I answered.  I needed to tell him how I was feeling.  I spoke gently and came from a place of humble expression.  “I had a really difficult day, today was filled with anxiety.  I like you too much, I just can’t live like this.”  I explained that I felt that he was still so enmeshed with his ex-girl friend and I wasn’t willing to participate in that.  He was silent.  I got the feeling he was disappointed.  Then what I said next I can only attribute to perhaps to gaining courage through osmosis by watching a big wave surfer on youtube, earlier that morning.  I told him if he was willing to let her go, I’d be willing to continue on with him.  I asked him how he felt about what I had just said.  He said “I don’t know” and I believed him.  I said that I understood that saying “I don’t know” was the best he could do right now.  “I don’t know, is the best I can do right now, but in a little bit of time I can do better.” he said.  I told him that is what I like about him, I like the way he talks, I really don’t want to let that go.  I explained that when I started this project (and well into the process of it writing as well), I wasn’t expecting to like anybody let alone like anyone as much as I liked him. I acknowledged, he was in a challenging place.  I have been there.  I asked him if there was a day that we could revisit this conversation.  He suggested Friday.  We made a plan to hang out on Friday and talk about it.  He is unique.  He is real.  He can use the word feeling in a sentence.  

So as I sit here and wait, I go back and forth between the left and right side of my brain.  I know I truly want to explore with this man further, and it is not solely up to me.  I am ready to face my life.  I am ready to look intimacy in the eyes and truly embrace the person who is looking back at me.

feeling light in the dark, dude.

He is one that I don’t want to forget.  I don’t want to forget this feeling of nostalgia , returning to my innocence.  I want to remember experiencing this man of substance.  Dirty, gritty and real;  honest, surfer.  Raised by four women and a biological father, his parents are lesbians who remarried.  Solid. I want to dance with him, sit around campfires with him, surf with him, get back to my roots with him.  I don’t want to take a shower, I want to smell him on me all day.  I messaged date#16 because he said that he liked coming up with puns.  He gave me his phone number and I began texting him random subjects.

Me:   Math

Him:  What do you call the top story of an academic houses? Mathematics.  

Me:  how about one about being a writer?

Him:  It’s better than being a wronger.  

Even by text he was cracking me up,  Laughing out loud, his puns appealed to my affinity for cheap thrills, like a roller coaster.  He also mentioned in his profile that he would like to make art with someone.  I am always looking for fellow artists to hang out with and create together.  We were texting back and forth and he asked me what I was doing.  I told him I was editing.  He asked what I was working on.  I told him a book.  He asked what it was about, and I blew my cover.  “You mean you actually went of 52 dates in one year?, “I’m still doing it”,  I said.  He asked if doing art together counted as a date and was he going to be famous?  I replied yes, and yes.  He said we might want to make the date at my house since he has no electric lights.  I was slightly surprised.  I debated how much effort I wanted to put into a relationship with a man who didn’t have electricity and probably pooped in a bucket.  But instead of judging and jumping to conclusions I kept the conversation going.  I asked why he didn’t have electricity.  He told me, maybe because he was a hippy and that he lived in a cob.  I had never heard of a cob before.  Apparently it is a structure, nicely stated, which is sustainably constructed out of earth and straw.  I furrowed my brow.   The point of this project is not to find the craziest people to go out with and exploit their stories.  However the more I texted him the more I liked him.  So we decided Monday night for an art date.  Monday morning came and he texted, asking if we were still on.  I’m glad he remembered cause I forgot and was happy to have something to do that night.  He let me know that he would be out of cell phone service, all day and he would text around 4:30.  At 4:00 he let me know that he was going to jump in the ocean and then we could meet up downtown.  He wanted to give me directions to his house in person because he thought it would be hard to communicate over text.  I liked the way he communicated clearly, succinctly.  I told him to meet me at the library.  

He texted me, to let me know he had arrived and informed me he was the guy in the lobby, with wet hair and one green sock.  My first impression of him, disheveled, hippie type who needed a shower.  Our eyes met and I gauged his energy.  Good.  Very laid back and go with the flow type guy.  We tried to figure out logistics, he had his bike but no lock and I was uneasy about wandering around in the wilderness looking for a cob.  After thinking about it, I figured it would be easier to take his bike to my apartment and we could come back for it later.  I asked him if he would hate me if I went to Starbucks.  He said, he wouldn’t be embarrassed to set foot into a Starbucks with me.  

We approached his property and as I parked my car, he pointed out his vehicle, a converted ambulance.  We trekked up a hill and around the corner was his freestanding structure.  It was pretty nice, it was box shaped not like a dirt igloo like I had been picturing.  He had a double bed and his computer set up facing out a large glass window, over looking the forrest.  We talked about some linguistics concepts, which was his major, and he noticed that I was the kind of person who has to find the answer (“I’m going to get to the bottom of this” type), when I’m curious about something.  I felt like he appreciated that or thought it was cute.  We set up two lawn chairs in the garden and I began mixing colors and he began applying those colors on the canvas one point at a time.  We talked about all kinds of things, our past lives, surf culture in santa cruz, the dangers of being a local at UCSC, crazy party behavior and relationships.  He told me about how in his last relationship he didn’t feel heard.  He felt that he was always the one holding it together and sometimes he wanted to be sad too.  He emotionally shut down and needed space, which his ex had a hard time allowing between them.  I told him I have a hard time with that one too.  I was beginning to bond with his character.  The air cooled, and he asked me if I wanted to borrow a sweatshirt, I did.  He made me mint tea out of hot water and fresh mint from the garden.  Somehow this complete stranger was warming my heart like the mug was warming my hand.  The vibrant green hue of the steeping mint leaves was beautiful, intense, just like us.  I saw wonderment in his eyes.  He told me some things and trusted me to keep them off the record.  I was starting to get hungry and it was getting cold so we decided to pack up and go back downtown.  As we approached my house.  We started talking about our emotional edges and what gets us there.  An emotional edge is where we notice, in the face of being ourselves, we are fearful and concerned about what others think of us, or of what we think of ourselves for that matter.  He said that dancing in front of other people and expressing his emotions by way of uncensored primal sounds would be his worst nightmare.  I was getting to the root of him, the beautiful place of vulnerability where he began to censor and stumble over his words in fear of being misunderstood.  I was really starting to like the guy, quickly in my mind I took a poll and asked myself if I could see myself spending a few more hours with him, or if it was time for me to turn in for the night.  I asked him if he wanted to get dinner.  He said yes.  We walked down to get chinese at Little Shanghai, closed.  We both agreed indian, Khyber Pass, closed.  Somewhere in front of Logos he outreached his bicep toward me, his elbow bent.  At first I thought he was showing me something on his sweatshirt, then I realized he wanted me to take his arm.  I smiled and took it in mine and sparks, mini silver, grey smoldering sparks materialized.  We kept walking to the mediocre chinese place at the end of Pacific.  We sat down across from each other and it felt like we had known each other for years.  We talked about old santa cruz (for us) memories and I told him about how I barged down the end of Ocean Street at Broadway with my friend tandem on a skateboard one summer when I was 19 and we made it to the bottom unscathed.  I think I impressed him.  I asked him if he was the one who said he was a bibliophile on his profile, he said no.  I told him he should then.  “I don’t read that much”, he said, but he was mentioning books all through the night.  He admitted he was name dropping books to impress me with his intellectualism.  I said it was working.  We ordered. In my head I thought to myself, “he seems far away I wonder what it would be like to sit next to him”, and about 15 seconds later he asked, “would you like to sit here next to me?’  “yes, I would”, I said. I sat next to him, it felt great.  We laughed, he said some more puns we shared some more stories, we felt like friends.  We walked back to my house arm in arm.  When we got back, it was very dark inside.  I felt my way in and switched on the lamp....except, nothing happened still pitch dark (I forgot that I had unplugged it, to vacuum earlier).  He flipped another light switch which was connected to an outlet with no lamp...still nothing, dark.  I walked over to my stove to turn the overhead light and remembered I took the lightbulb out a few days ago and put it in a different lamp....still dark.  By this time I could hardly speak because I was laughing so hard, at the irony; how I was so put off at first by him not having electric lights, in the first place.  I finally found a lamp that was plugged in and had a lightbulb in it.  He looked at me very cutely and asked if we still were going to hang out for longer.  I said yes.  I think we talked for a while, but what happened next blurred all of my coherent memory.  All I remember was kissing him.  His lips were smaller than mr.ten but his energy was so grounded.  I found what I was looking for, traction.  It was like we were inseparable. It felt like we were crawling inside one another continually trying to get closer, closer and closer.  Until we were as close as two people can be.  There was something about the way he maintained a stillness I found unique.  Steady, strong and so incredibly gentle,  sweet little movements.  I watched his hand on my waist and hip.  He touched me.  He was paying attention.  He was paying attention.  He was not acting. He was there, and he noticed I was there too.  I told him out loud he was beautiful, he really is.  Total surfer body, tight stomach, lean, with sun bleached hair that waves as it tucks behind his ears at his jaw.  Scruffy blonde beard, blue eyes and angular features.  Really hot.  We looked at each other.  I was being called to turn the lights off.  Something about him and being in the dark was a repeating motif.  I turned off the lights.  I was able to feel, really feel.  For as long as I can remember I have been having sex with the lights on.  I think somewhere along the line, it was a statement of not being afraid of someones flaws and my own.  But sex in the dark is just as valuable.  My sense of touch is more sensitive when my sight is disabled.  I think we went into a meditation together.  I asked him to stay the night, I couldn’t bear the thought of him riding his bike home in the dark at 1:30 am.  We slept beside each other, in the same bed, in the same house.

the  next day:  

It rocks my confidence. I begin to feel small and I begin to want more.  More of the feeling of being wanted, more of that connection.  My brain labels it insecure.  As if somehow I should be unaffected, by such an intense major connection between me and another person.  I start to doubt my feelings and feel guilty about having them, as if I should be more detached.  This is the feeling that deserves deeper investigating.  This feeling doesn’t exist when I am not dating.  What am I really afraid of? The space.  There is something about the space in between that is so incredibly vulnerable and uncomfortable for me.  What if I change my perspective?  What if I revel in the vulnerability and let go of the results.  There are those words again, let go.  Oh boy that is so challenging.   I am constantly coming up against the edge.  Trying to find rules and regulations that will lessen my anxiety.  This anxiety is directly related to fine tuning my asking for and communicating my needs.  

muddling through the truth

I met date#15 two years ago, when I first interviewed for the job at the museum.  I met him in passing, he worked in the accounting department.  He is in his late forties, salt and pepper hair and very smart.  Over the next couple of years while I was working there I didn’t see him very often but when I did, I definitely got the feeling he found me attractive.  Sometimes I would be sitting at a table finishing up some paperwork and I would catch him staring at me.  I thought he was married.  I would flirt with him but I tried to keep it light, since I had already dipped my toes into dating David and didn’t think it was too smart to get involved with another co-worker, even though they worked in entirely separate departments.  I had been working up there, once a month for the last 2 years and I finally decided that the drive to the city was too much, and resigned from my position.  Last week the museum was having an opening for an exhibit and I decided to attend.  Maybe I wanted attention or maybe I did find date#15 attractive,  I wan’t sure.  I believe ending it with mr.ten intensified my curiosity.  I went to the opening aware of the intention I had to explore my options with him.  

I saw date#15 enter from across the room and I noticed he had gotten his haircut.  It looked nice.  I of course couldn’t help but wonder if he and I were on the same wavelength.  I mingled around the party and midway through he walked over to where I was standing and asked if anyone wanted to go look at the pieces in the left wing with him.  I said sure and we walked over there together, just he and I.  As we walked down the hall I noticed the rumbling of chattering voices become softer, fainter and then by the time we turned the corner into the exhibit, they were gone.  We stood there in the hollow room.  Our energy echoed before our voices even made a sound.  Seeing him like this felt slightly out of context and I flirted with my edge of exploring my feelings about him.  On the walls were a series of vintage black and white photographs of old time baseball players.  I asked him if he liked baseball, he said not really.  He admitted he wan’t much of an athlete but, there was one thing he really loved.  He made me promise not to laugh, I obliged. he revealed to me that he loves playing putt putt golf.  I didn’t laugh, and I was feeling gutsy so I asked him if he would like to play sometime.  

We agreed before we left the party to keep in touch and make a date to play.  I went back home and in my heart of hearts I knew I was not attracted to this man. But I figured it would be fun to play mini golf with him.  We chatted online a bit over the next week and scheduled a time to meet.  The communication was slightly unclear and I was a bit concerned that he was going to stand me up.  I finally called him to tell him I was there waiting and he said he was on his way.  I was a little nervous.  There is something about  hiding the truth that makes me uncomfortable.  I knew he had been checking me out for the last couple of years but he was reigning it in.  I guess I was nervous that all of a sudden now that I was opening the door a little, that I might be flooded by him.   It seemed as though he felt tentative about his attraction to me.   

This date ended up being a test of my boundaries.  My conviction, my self-esteem and morals.  There was a time in my life when I believed that it was impossible for a man to love me, if they thought that having sex with me was out of the question.  

The thing about this guy was that he has heart.  He too has a story, metal illness has deeply demolished his family, and my perception of him is that he tries his best everyday to do the right thing despite his painful experiences and history.  I have to admit that the extent of mental illness in his family scares me just a little.  He said he thought I was beautiful, and there is a little hook.  Hearing that felt really good.  So good that I can’t get it out of my head.    

I’m not sure what else to say.  Other than is it worth going out with guys just for fun?  It’s such a tricky area for me because, sometimes it doesn't feel safe.  I don’t trust my motives with this guy.  I hate admitting that. There was something that was happening while we were talking that made me feel uneasy.  It’s strange because, just when it seems like I could have a connection with anyone, little red flags pop up and I start to second guess whether that is true or not.  I had a good time playing with him but, when I compare it to how I feel when I am dancing with some of the guy friend dancers, or dance#13 it seems pretty clear that comparatively, I feel much safer with them.  I guess what I am running into is the fact that I can choose the dynamics I want in my life.  We all have outer struggles and inner demons to deal with.  I think we attract others who share similar characteristics of our own struggle.  We meet each other all along various points on the spectrum of our healing or where we want our healing to be.  I can a take steps back and see what people I surround myself with are really contributing to my life.  

I think relationships are a lot like a dinner party, a potluck.  Sometimes a certain food is really good and I eat it up fast and revel in the pleasure of the flavor.  Other times it is so rich I can only take it in small doses, and others I simply don’t care for.  Then there are those that taste good at first, but leave me feeling a little queasy and bloated afterwards,  or maybe I’m allergic.  Then there is junk food.  That’s usually a red flag.  I have a specific type of relationship, resembling the effects of junk food that produce a numbing effect on me.  These are at best taken in small doses, and I need to take extra precautions when partaking in such exchanges.  Usually these numbing effect relationships occur with a male, who pays sexual attention to me, yet I am not particularly attracted to them.  It’s about control.  I feel in control because I can tease them, set the pace of the intrigue and it gives me a false sense of worth.  This is a pattern with men that has been especially hard for me to break.  I find difficulty in not using sex as a form of currency, which I use to purchase their liking me.  I have trouble separating sex from friendship whether I am attracted to them or not.  As I explore this frustrating aspect of my dynamic with men I ask myself this, am I practicing this sexual flirting behavior with men I am not attracted to, because, I think thats all they are worth too?  That is dangerous.  Dropping boundaries with guys that I really have no interest in at all period, but because they are paying attention to me sexually I maintain an intrigue with them.  I would like to stop doing that. I also feel like they're advances can’t be stopped, so I have to respond or I’m left with confrontation and exhausted from blocking their unrequited energy.  How can stop doing this? Stop hanging around guys who do not respect my boundaries, that helps. Yet the truth is this is more an issue of me maintaining my own solid boundaries.  These “junk food relationships” don’t happen for me that often anymore. These types of relationships set off a trigger in me to act out, instead of bringing the reality of each others true beings closer together.  Danger, danger, danger.  #15 is one of those people.  It satiates the loneliness.  

Why don’t I respect myself?  It it because my parents didn’t respect me ? or because they didn’t respect themselves?  Why don’t I discern my sexuality or who I like or even fall in love with?  If I really think about what I want, none of the men I have ever been with have been have possessed those qualities.  I don’t believe it’s because of scarcity.  I believe that men who have the qualities I am looking for are scarce, is a myth.   

STOP

I’m going to stop digging right there.  I am not going to find problems where none exist.  This was a date, just a mediocre date.  The behavior I am talking about is really old.  I don’t have to choose this path anymore.  I will not choose this path.  I will make decisions about whether continue relationships based on my feelings in the moment and by having good boundaries. I do not need to sleep with everyman that is attracted to me.  In turn, I can also wait to sleep with men I am attracted to.  I am excited to know what lies in store sexually for me now, and I do not have to be in a rush.  I think now would be an appropriate time to check in with what I want in a partner.  

It would start similarly how I felt when I met David except with a different outcome.  When I met David, I was motivated and energetic about my education.  I was thrilled to be in school and pursuing my life dream.  I knew nothing was going to stand in my way.  I had confidence, I was working so hard and I was opening up to the possibility of finding sustainable intimate relationships.   

All this doubt and beating myself up for not acting perfect and over analyzing why I behave in such ways is completely pointless.  What I need to remember that I am equal to everyone else.  I am here to give not to receive.  When I receive it is just the completion of the circle.  I seek someone open mined, safe, honest and soft hearted.  Someone who thinks I am the moon.  Not because of my unique qualities, but because they love everyone open heartedly.  I won’t have to be, do or say anything special to win their love and affection because it will be available to anyone who is willing to receive it.  But the thing that will make the love between us special will be that we can deepen our love, by focusing it onto each other deeply and on purpose.  He will have the desire to be there.  He will want to stay.  He will want me by his side.  He will know how much there is to be gained by allowing somebody to love him.  He will be sensitive.  He will be strong.  He will love, he will be love.     

My heart aches for him.  I know he is out there.  He is waiting for me to run to him too.  In this moment my heart is breaking in loneliness.  This is just part of the process.  It’s dark nights of the soul like this that will make our sweet time together even sweeter.  I have always had this fantasy since I was a little kid that my husband would come home after I had already gone to bed.  I could go to bed before he got home because I trust him completely.  I am sleeping and I feel him come into the room.  I hear him take off his shirt and his pants.  He goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth and the fait light from underneath the door is peaking though.   He turns off the light before opening the bathroom door, he put on a clean t-shirt in the dark.  He slowly and quietly lifts the sheet on his side of the bed and gently lays down next to me.  At first slowly as not to wake me, and he softly snuggles up behind me.  He hugs me deeply, warmly and passionately because he knows the kind of woman I am. The kind of woman who put her child first, the woman who survived, and made it through.  His wife, whose strength will be passed down through generations.  The woman who made it all those years on her own and didn't settle so she could finally give him the love that he deserved, and he never wants to let her go.  He appreciates her warmth, in fact he needs it.  In addition to her depth and her heart.  He doesn’t get scared by her openness and vulnerability, it turns him on.  He never thought he would find her either.  As he is a warrior as well.  He had to learn so many lessons before he was ready for a miracle like her, and he is so grateful that he did.  

i have a secret.......

I told him about David.  I’d like to blame mr.ten for being all sorts of different things that  I didn’t want him to be, but the truth is, it’s just not right.  He makes too many references to Starwars and I think it’s messing with our communication.  I have practiced telling him how I feel when I feel like going into victim mode and last night was simply another ridiculous waste of my breath and effort.  It seems the more I talk to him the further away he gets.  And oddly enough the more he talks to me the further away he gets also, go figure.  I’m starting to think we look a little bit like oil and water.  

We met up at his house later in the evening, which was also starting to annoy me because I am craving more fun activity.  I like to go out and do stuff, enjoy each others company.  Yet our dates are sporadic and the happenings between us take place inside the common time parameters of a booty call.  We are often left with very little choice but to go straight to bed.  I have enjoyed exploring that kind of relationship with him but it seemed that the natural progression of things would lead us to something more intimate, even if it was just more intimate sex.   Earlier that evening I had been talking to my friend about what she refers to as sacred sex.  I told her that it wasn't until recently I even started to enjoy sex at all.  I told her that I was finally getting to a place where I was comfortable enough in my body, and with a lover, where I could really let them in and foster a connection with a man.   I like the idea of giving myself completely without reservation.  My body becomes open, my mind expands and a spiritual connection is able to manifest between us.  She mentioned “pornstar” sex, you know the kind where it’s rough, fast and mostly lead by male thrusting.  She told me a great position to slow down.  She said straddle him and in initiates a much slower movement.  I figured I’d lead the way, as I am used to non-verbal communication of physical action because of dance.   

We began kissing on the couch.  His tender lips and open mouth were so delicious.  He can’t hide behind that kiss.  We moved toward the bedroom, his movements were rushed, he pushed his hand between my legs quickly and somewhat harshly.  I moved away and tried to come back to that kiss, telling him out loud, slower.  He rubbed me with lotion,  it was a nice gesture.  I wanted slow passionate, close sex.  At he beginning of having dinner I was feeling closer to him, I wanted to look into his eyes.  Yet I swear in hind sight he seemed uncomfortable.  I wanted to feel held, and valued.   I wanted to feel beautiful.  I wanted to be touched.  I wanted to pay attention to his breath.   I wanted the heat from his body to radiate into me.  I wanted there to be no friction simply traction.  I desired a push from him would lead us through space together, not push me across the room.  I wanted him to rock me with circles and swerves.  But I was drifting, he was thrusting me away from him.  I could feel it energetically, he was fucking me away.  I could feel it.  I just laid there wondering how to get him back, why wasn’t he listening anymore? He once payed such tender attention.  The night we met, I told him to pay attention.  He told me he liked that I noticed him fading.  He liked that I was receptive to him and his level of presence.  However staying present is something he struggles with.  I feel sad about that.  It’s a handicap.  I have tried to communicate through the distance.  I have tried to become closer with him, by loosening the arrangement between us.  I have tried to connect on a physical level, and let the emotions filter through however they may.  That night there were no emotions coming through.  He finished.  He got up went to the bathroom and got the ice cream I had brought over, out of the freezer.  

When he came back into the bedroom he asked me if I wanted any.  I lay there slightly dazed and confused and said no.  I was mad.  I went to the bathroom.  I sat there on the toilet trying to calm down, wondering how to deal with these feelings.  My initial reaction is always to get angry and lay it on him.  Typically when I feel this hurt, I make a snide comment, call him an asshole and leave.  My previous experience has taught me when I follow the afore mentioned sequence of events, inevitably it pushes them away.  They never call to apologize, and I am am left feeling regretful because what I really wanted was the opposite.  I really wanted to be acknowledged and taken care of, and I never get it that way. Then I end up going back into the relationship apologizing for my behavior and whatever they have done gets pushed to the wayside, in the wake of my dramatic display of my hurt feelings.  I sat there on the toilet for a good 5 minutes mustering up the courage, once again to go out there (on the big white boat which was now feeling like just a bed) and tell him how I felt.  When I walked back into his bedroom I looked at that bed and it looked like all the others.  A bed I will probably not lie in again.  I sat down next to him.  He was lying down, outstretched diagonally, we were both still naked.  My were knees curled up along side him and wrapped in white sheets.    He looked up at me.  I said I was really wanting sex different than what we had, I wanted something slower, more sensual.  He nonchalantly looked at me and said “Well I’m sorry that isn’t what happened, I just didn’t have the energy for that tonight.”  At face value his response seemed reasonable but the more I thought about it, the more it felt like an “I’m sorry you're feeling that way” apology.  “What is the disconnect between us? I asked.  “It seems like the longer I know you, the further away you get.  It feels like when I make love to you,  I am making love to a person wrapped in bubble wrap.”  I asked him if he was having feelings for someone else.  I wondered if that was the cause of the disconnect.  He said maybe.  Then I said I was still in love with David, so we’re even.  

I must confess.  I have been keeping David a secret, the gesso on the canvas of project52weeks 52dates.  I’m sorry I kept him from you.  I hate that comparing him to Garp makes me cry.  I hate the power his essence has over me.  Pulling me in, drawing me in.  David was the original inspiration for the project.  I needed something to get over him.  He was the lining underneath all of the others, and the muse for a lot of the ideas that came out in my writing.  There are pieces of the dates I have been on so far that were derived from feelings inspired by david and not the actual date they were categorized under.  He inspired me to paint.  When I was around him I felt smart.  I felt like I had finally met someone who I could feel equal too.  This was before I had gone on any of the dates.  I loved his quirky sense of humor.  I loved that he was a musician and a thinker.  I met him in October, at a museum in the city.  I had a short term job as a docent.  He was my supervisor.  He was into art and thinking.  We have the same birthday.  He had a way of explaining things humbly that calmed amd stimulated my brain.  He was open minded, silly and stunning. I guess all of those qualities don’t seem so astonishing now, but at that time I was so far away form being a sexual being. I had not been on a date or had sex in four years. My intention was to be his friend.  I still very much believed I was a lesbian.  I was simply looking for friends that I had things in common with, whom I respected and wanted to see how that would go.  We would talk on the phone every few days about spirituality, art, individual paths and the nature of the universe.  I like how he listened.  I liked how he was goofy.  He was smart and a hard worker.  He walked me back to my car one day and I was somewhat in a hurry but, for some reason he just stood there lingering, staring at me.  I didn’t think much of it but I was starting to wonder what the connection I was feeling was all about.  Later that week he informed me via email that he was in town and wanted to know if I wanted to go for walk.  My house was a mess, I rushed around picking up clothes and did some dishes, slightly in disbelief that this might be a sign that he was interested.  What was even more surprising  was, by the way I was acting, it was clear that I was interested also.  He came over and we sat outside on the steps of my apartment building.  I asked him about how he liked working for the museum.  He was also working on a doctorate in art history. I was kinda feeling a little awestruck by having a man with such an amazing education over at my house, not to mention he was absolutely gorgeous.  He laid next to me on my bed and we touched arms.  I payed attention to every little brush of contact between us.  I could’t read him though.  He was very ambiguous, I waited for him to make the first move.  We talked until 2 o'clock in the morning.  He finally got up to say goodbye.  I was in chemistry confusion, I had to know.  I couldn’t just let him leave.  Somehow in talking to him for those hours looking into his eyes I was falling in love.  His laugh, the tone of his voice his posture was drawing me in.  I stood up, I became confident and grounded and mustered the courage to ask, “Can I kiss you?”  He hovered over me our lips becoming more sensitive to the distance between them.  He said, “I could lose my job”.  “Really”  I said, “it’s too late for that”.  His breath warmed my lips.  The tension was heaving.  Our lips met together in the middle.  The middle of space, of time and what seemed to be the middle of my life.    I had never in my life had sex with man where I was able to remain present and not feel like I was being raped.  That night when we kissed I was more preset than I had ever been.  I was so enraptured by him.  I like this guy a lot.  There was nowhere I would rather be than there, beneath him, on top of him, and beside him.  I focused on him.  I gave him my affection.  I was present.  I miss him. 

Mr. Ten rolled his eyes at me and said, “that doesn't make us even”.  I told him the story of David, I don’t know why.  I sat there on the bed my skin feeling damp, cool and thin, in a puddle of defeat. I said “I just don't get it”, “I am so wanting a partner.  I no longer want to do this on my own.  Not because of Lucy but because I just want someone to do life with.”  “that’s not a very good reason”‘ he said.  I disagreed.  I said that for the first time, I was more capable of communicating my feelings, much better at not fighting, more capable of loving.  I told him I just wanted someone I could talk to.  I got the feeling he was still swimming in the confusion of his own self pity.  I can keep trying to reach out to him, but it seems when I open up he shuts down and there isn’t really anything I can do about that.  My sense is when I open up and he goes numb.  

I waited for him to show me a sign of relief.  I wanted him to notice that I didn’t pick a fight with him,  I wanted the conversation to flow toward a more authentic deeper place.  A place where he could tell me his fears.  He did say that he was in a time of transition.  For a moment I felt like I was capable of supporting him and holding his feelings.  He stated he didn’t want to deal with these transitional events that were afoot.  He stated his fears but he seemed, more comfortable with the weight of the world  on his shoulders then with sharing it, getting support and feeling cared for by me. We eventually fell asleep more disconnected then ever.  Emotionally we were sleeping in two different houses yet still in the same bed.  

I left his house that morning without saying good bye.  I woke up and he stayed put on his side of the bed.  Eventually I reached my arm over to him and laid my hand on his chest.  He did not reach back.  I lay there for a while noticing the disconnect and found myself vacillating between seeing reality and wondering how long I was going to be satisfied by this.  I got up, got dressed and figured it wasn't worth saying goodbye as clearly he was not particularly interested in my presence.  I took my ice cream with me.  Earlier in the week I began to question if it was worth it.  If these little bits and pieces of himself, he was throwing my way were becoming the emotional equivalent of food scraps for the dog.  Were they fulfilling me enough to keep seeing him?  I asked him, if I was gone, would he would be affected by that?  He said yes.  But somehow I doubt that.  He seems to have some pretty good numbing mechanisms in place, and I’m sure those would kick in swiftly upon feeling any sign of disappointment or loneliness.

  

My experience of mr.ten is a mild view into my perception of his young life.  He didn’t hook me like some other past lovers have.  Perhaps a sign of my own personal progress.  I respect his essence and him pursuing the mission he is on.  His mouth is luscious, his kiss is delicious and seductive.  His mouth tells of his passion, the passion trapped inside.  The heat burning inside of him that wants to be silly, creative and free. But his mouth is also holding him back.  He is trapped in the cage of his own mind.  He seems isolated and lonely even if only by his own volition.  When I think about my attraction to him, I know I wanted to explore him, to get inside him and express that tender sexual energy, I was incapable of showing to anyone else before.  He was there at a pivotal time when I began to open up and learned to use my words for good and not evil.  I feel the connection between us is best kept in that soft place in my heart reserved especially for those who make me sprout new leaves and grow.  

There is nothing in the world like letting love in.  It is an edge that can feel scary but the fear is simply an illusion, a mirage of tricks telling me not to trust.  I can’t imagine saying another word to him.  I see this cartoon picture of us in my mind, my words in red chunky block letters; heavy and bigger then his body.  They are much too intimidating, for him to stop running from them.  

I imagine he and I are up in the sky, deep in the clouds.   

I am focused on him while I playfully I dance over, under, and through billowing shapes of nothingness.  

My weight seems to weave in and out of gravity, as does his connection to me.  

He stands still.  He feels tired, too tired to dance.  In the center of space where the fog does not distort our vision, stands his bed.  He gravitates to it slowly and sits down.  

I see his shoulders round as his head drops in slow motion; in comfort, in shame.  He exhales fully.  I stand before him and I inhale consciously while looking into his sad eyes and his fragile breath becomes synchronized with mine.  

I hug his face into my chest and pause.  He releases the weight of his head onto me, heavy on my heart.  

While we are hiding behind the steam of fluffy clouds, no one can see us and he feels safe.  

He believes he might be dreaming.  

Slowly he collapses backward and I ramp him down onto his bed.  

I pull his soft white blanket carefully over his long weary body and snuggle it up close gently under his chin.  

Reliable comfort moves inch by inch up over his skin.  I take in his vulnerability and I exhale all the way to my finger tips.  

I give him one last kiss; soft, wet, sensual, our eyes closed.  

As the energy between us vaporizes, I catch my desire for him in a mason jar and quickly drizzle it with honey.  The honey weighs it down before it  can escape and the sweetness helps preserve it.  I set the jar beside his bed on his nightstand.  

It is his to keep, he can look at it anytime he wants, on those mornings when he wakes up feeling lonely, or those nights before he falls asleep when he is exhausted and feels worthless.  

And, if he ever decides to open up his heart, he can spoon some of that honey into his tea, and drink my desire in.  

Here is my relationship meditation.  I do not make hard and fast decisions when it comes to what I am going to do to resolve my feelings of unrest in any given relationship conflict. I simply am to stay present with how I feel, very much like letting the snow settle on the bottom of a snow globe.  I may want to express those feelings in form of a letter, a phone call or a conversation in person acknowledging the other person will have their own feelings, not decided or predicted by me, and do what they will.  I have found that my making rules concerning parameters on relationships (i.e “I am never seeing, speaking, having sex with again”) because someone’s behavior is unacceptable to me, is fruitless.  The lesson is in the mess.