I’m listening to Maxwell and thinking about death, life, love, companionship, relationships….


My week was personally uneventful.  I did stuff, I showed up, I responded to questions but it doesn’t feel like anything I did was productive, you know? At times, I do feel like nothing I do has any real meaning. That I’m racing for nothing, towards nothing.  I don’t want to feel this way but it is present. Might as well be honest.

But then someone I know died.  I did not know this person intimately — he was a yoga teacher at the studio in my neighborhood.  My experience of him was as a devoted, committed yoga teacher with a good spirit.  To receive news of his death was not life-altering but still sad.  One day, he was sharing his life force with the world and now, that spirit is a memory, filled with longing.  Again, I did not know this man well at all but it feels the world is being cheated that his spirit, energy is no longer here.

Maybe that’s why I’m having such a challenging time writing two blog posts. I’m thinking about death and life and wondering how to do a bit better at both.  If only laptops could read minds! Then putting all my thoughts into the world would be the effortless process I crave. But that’s not coming. A reminder that writing  is not an easy exercise for me.  No matter how much I like to lie to myself.

I’m trying to process why I’m so challenged.  Or maybe why I’m stopping to pay attention to being challenged.  Usually, I take pride in being in constant problem solving mode.  I get a little flustered at the prospect of standing still, mouth agape, stunned into inaction. I’ve had too many experiences with that mode and it makes me a little jumpy.   Taking the time to feel this man’s death is making me feel uncomfortable in my own skin.

That and also the nature of affectionate and love.  A month ago, I met a guy. Correction: I remet a man.  We met at a New Year’s Eve party and we didn’t register emotionally with each other. At all. I have no idea why he didn’t fall in love with me immediately (joke) but I do know why there was no spark from me: I was managing with a toxic person I once loved, juggling anemia  and preparing for major surgery to eliminate the anemia.   My primary goal that night was to dance and get drunk.

Fast forward 10 months later, I was forced out of my apartment by a good friend to meet people.  For dinner. Ugh. It’s funny because that’s how I am sometimes. As much as I prefer real connection to loneliness, there are times when I just want to say fuck the world. Wait. Am I mythologizing this guy? Am I mythologizing because I’m afraid to see any red flags? Because I’m afraid to be lonely?

Not sure. I think the worry stops me from emailing him as much as I could.  What I know tonight: I do like him but I don’t want to. I don’t want to have it become something that’s meaningless.  But I’m not sure that I even want more.  Because needing a guy to be my boyfriend feels like a shortcut to me putting my needs, desires on the back burner.  I like to hide out in relationships, even if it’s the worst thing for me to do.

We dated for two weeks where I learned a lot about him (smart, curious, slight intellectual snob, Argentinian, cute) and I learned even more about myself (my beard hatred is situational.)

He’s in Singapore. I’m happy/not happy about that. If he were here, I wonder if we would burn out on each other’s stories, expectations and doubts?  I wonder if I would go into dancing monkey mode, eager to please so much my humanity gets a nice shiny perfect cover story?  I wonder if he would get tired and bored of me? I wonder if I would get tired of him? And how soon?

He’s in Singapore. And I’ve decided to take it one day at a time. To live life trusting that I don’t need to know exactly where a romantic relationship is going or even that it needs to go somewhere. I can’t change the fact that he’s on another continent.  I can focus on what I need to do to get closer to who I was meant to be.

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