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.