Over and Over Again

I never know how to start these things.

But I'm always looking for an ending.

And of course I found one again.

Originally, this was only going to last a couple of days, but somehow after discovering how much fun it was, it lapsed into a couple of weeks. It's over now. I'm back to normal... well, as normal as I can be when I'm pretending to be normal.

Why did it crumble?

I sensed him pulling away... planning another rendezvous, but not with me. I felt excitement, like when making travel plans together with someone, but definitely not with me. The guilt he was hiding was not hiding well... like when my dog wants to remain outside looking for squirrels when I'm calling her back inside, so she chooses to stand directly behind a tree to hide from my line of view, but her wagging, white, plume-like tail betrays her attempts at concealing herself... she knows I'll be angry, but she's preparing for that while she continues the hunt. For him, it was coming across in his voice and in his actions, which only makes me squirrelly.

When I pick up on those vibes, rather than stand and hold my ground, I dump everything and run. This time was no exception. I felt myself getting annoyed with him... bubbling to the surface... first just a little sarcasm, then a lot... then... the inevitable apathy.

I just can't be that girl... the one who turns the other cheek... who ignores reality and plays along with the charade. I can't be that girl. But, oh, how I wish I could be that girl.

Perceptiveness is a curse, really. When you can read what is in someone's heart and behind their eyes better than a psychic... When you can hear tones and smell fear in a way that rivals a police dog... When you can find the well of untold stories better than a divining rod... That's when it's a curse.

I am a soothsayer and a truth slayer... the deepest, darkest fear of all men. I see through... I see in and around... and when it isn't brought up to the surface, I manage to reach in and pull it up.

You say men secretly want this, to have someone perceive all their secrets... but they don't. Men who want a version of their mothers do, however... and they will cultivate that kind of relationship for as long as they can get away with it. I married one of those, I know.

The other part of my senses comes from a different angle. When I feel something else is happening outside my little circuit... when I sense some power being siphoned and diverted... I seek to recharge it elsewhere and to replace it. I make eye contact... serious, long, unbroken eye contact... with strangers... people I would likely have not paid much attention to at all while in a happier state of mind. Men who seem to be everywhere when I'm feeling the extra-sensory perceptiveness rise. All of my radar goes up... including the part of me that looks for something shiny and new.

I just don't understand charades or acting, for that matter. Why say one thing to a person and be thinking about something or someone completely different? It takes away from the moment. It kills all the REAL fun and replaces it with plastic diversions.

This is why it had to end. I am looking for the real thing, not the temporary stand-in for someone, but the REAL thing. I am looking for a deeper experience than just the description and whatever happens to be lying about on the surface. I will go deeper and if you will not go with me, then I will leave you behind.

I choose not to paddle around on the surface anymore with boys who prefer breathing through a snorkel and keeping an eye on dry land. I want to get wet... completely wet... to submerge and to feel the pressure as the depth changes... to keep my head clear but my heart racing forward... and most importantly, I have to learn how to breathe at these depths.

I've wanted this since my divorce six years ago, but I simultaneously ran from it... so much so, that the first guy whom I asked out after my divorce took five months for me to build up to that moment, and about 20 serious panic attacks, where I had to swallow Rolaids, Pepto, aspirin, heart medication... anything I had been carrying around with me at the time... except that I forgot how to swallow, so it took hours to get everything in me. Literally. And then I had to figure out how unglue my grip from whatever solid object I was clinging to for safety. Luckily, either my muscles would release on their own due to fatigue, or the buckets of sweat pouring off of me would make me lose my grip.

Now, years and many dates later, my grip is loose... maybe too loose. I let go so easily that I don't know if I remember how to hold on. Remember that airliner that went into the river in DC in the middle of winter? And how despite the coast guard's best attempt at rescue with life preservers, many of the passengers just couldn't hold on, because they were too frozen? That's me. I'm that poor woman whom they were pulling up and almost got her to the safety of the chopper when she plummeted back into the icy waters. Unlike her, I keep resurfacing. But like her, many are losing hope for me as they watch me fall back again and again.

How did it crumble, cookie-wise?

I found myself thinking long and hard about a brief relationship that I'd had five years earlier. Both men are very similar in personalities... very similar. Oddly enough, this new creature comfort in my life had bits and pieces of all the best relationships over the years... he looked similar to one, acted similar to another, had the spirit of yet another, the desire of another, and the parts of this one and that... oh, those parts... of so many good beginnings. But mostly, I was reminded of the unresolved parts of my past lovers... and one in particular.

Five years ago, while I was in a very different spot in my heart and head, I wanted nothing but fun fun fun. And when I met up with him, the former, he was instantly smitten... as was I. But he was in a deeper, more serious place than I was. He just ended something that seemed all wrong for long-lasting love, but his friends were all getting married off and his life seemed so unlike theirs. He was longing for what they had, but afraid at the same time.

Along comes me... all fun and freedom and unfettered fantasy... and a whirlwind couple of days spent pretending to be coupley and having the most exquisite time... all unicorns and rainbows and surprisingly well-timed music. On my last day, we walk into a pizza place for our last meal together in that city and as if timed just for us, the music piping through the speaker system starts playing the Beatles "All You Need Is Love." We looked at each other and began to laugh hard. I know people thought we were drunk. And we were.

But then the serious questions crept into his mind... can she move here with her kids? Can I afford an insta-family? Can I handle all the pressure and responsibility all at once? I tried to calm his fears and tell him this was all supposed to be fun... just fun, nothing more... just come visit me in my city and the fun will continue... you'll see, it'll be a blast. But he wanted more and couldn't stop thinking about that. On the day of his arrival here, he called and cancelled instead. Rather than taking the 2-hour flight to come see me and let us resolve any wounds with care-filled stitches of respectful threads, he chose to tear the end open and leave it gaping and bleeding and unresolved.

I was in agony over this moment for weeks... then traumatized by it for months... and the scar remained for years. It was the constant reminder of what kind of girl I was... the kind one can play fantasy with, but then throw away when things about me don't fit neatly into a box. It affected and infected other relationships that followed... well, one in particular more directly than others. A few years later after a leave of abstinence, it only affected things peripherally rather than directly.

I have to say, taking a year off can do a body good... clears the mind and the soul, removes the debris of the past. Five years later, following another long leave of abstinence, it was like I had been given a new prescription. Here I was, the man that he had been facing the woman that I had been back then. We had changed roles and a new actor who still fit the role was playing opposite me, but it was the same script. This time, I was in the position of being asked to just have fun, when instead I was looking for more than just fun.

With the shoe on my foot this time, I could feel the discomfort here that it caused in me. I tried to walk in it a little while, and I really did enjoy myself thoroughly... until the irritation became inflamed and a blister formed. I found myself after knowing the man only 7 weeks (par for my old pattern), and "knowing" him in the Biblical sense for just 2.5 weeks, that I needed and wanted something deeper than what he was willing to give... he's too new into the post-divorce world to see that... he's me five years ago, unable to see a full partnership with another again, but still enticed by the fresh memory of it.

When I saw him doing what I was doing those 5 years ago... trying to keep myself open for more and more and more back then... spinning off in other directions and being tempted by so much choice... I decided that I had two options: (1) stick with the fantasy and wait it out while turning a blind eye to his other whims; or (2) end it now and focus on finding the real. I chose at first, as you've read before, to wait... but quickly I realized that it wouldn't be true to myself to do so. So I chose instead, option 2.

I almost pulled the same escape that was pulled on me 5 years ago... to leave it torn open and unresolved, just to not have to waste more energy or time or emotion, and to "make it easy" on the both of us and "spare us" the face-to-face agony. A phone call could have done that trick... or an email.

But when I realized that I had an opportunity to end things in the way that I wished had been done unto me previously, I chose to make that extra effort. As difficult as it was going to be for me, I chose to face the end head-on. So unlike the other man that I was emulating, I packed and made the 2-hour journey to see the me that I was, though I admit that I was hesitant and dragged my feet a little, but still... it was the right thing for both of us... the me that I am now and the me that I was... him.

We spent a quiet, windy, yet glorious day walking around the city... holding hands and acting coupley. There was a sadness to me that day that was partly cloudy, like the weather, but still very optimistic deep down inside that the rain could be held back a little longer. I lifted the air with comedy where I could, and when we returned for food and shelter, he lifted the air with sensuality... which I gladly accepted. It would be the last time that passion would be in season, so I sated myself on the fruit and drank heartily from its cup.

When it came time to discuss the end, we were wrapped in warm embrace. It was nurturing and comforting and bittersweet, but very necessary. I know I almost cried a time or two and I think I even saw his eyes well up a little as well, but we were careful not to let anything but passion overflow. By the morning, the role reversal was complete... literally and figuratively... and our goodbyes felt deeply moving and fully fleshed. In a way, though this affair of the heart was but a stand-in for something real to come, the ending I chose made it more real... and also made the pain of an old scar disappear.

The only thing left unresolved is the collaboration that I mentioned previously. I don't think it will be possible, with the passion as good as it was and the temptation that comes from working together. He claims he'll respect my wishes, but my desires are far stronger than my wishes... it's me that I worry about, not him.

But as he left that door open for more work in the future, I left the door open to more depth in the future, should he find himself ready to stop paddling around on that surface life of his. The only problem I see with that ever happening stems from where he's paddling... some tricky waters.

When you involve yourself with someone so young and inexperienced and brought up in a highly reserved and conservative environment, and an accident happens... as accidents often do... there is no fire escape for a fast exit... only responsibility will come down that road. Oddly, that's what he most fears... yet he seems to be tempting fate. Perhaps that's his predetermined path though... and maybe it will be the best thing for him. Or maybe he just let the best thing for him go. That's not for me to decide. But I can see the future sometimes... or future truths at least... and I saw that as soon as he confessed to me his other life. Tread with care or you will find that road you're on leads you back to the home you've been trying to leave all your life.

My path, however, is now open. New endings mean new beginnings. Time to take what I've been given and move forward. And I've been given a great gift this time... wisdom and maturity... without pain or the feeling of loss. I do feel a loss... a great one... but I also feel that more than anything, I've been true to myself. This time an intimate relationship crumbled and I didn't.

It's such a beautiful day, almost painted on canvas.

I think I'll take my tea outside.

To steep and to soak it in.