Up to Me

Don't get me wrong. Lemonade is pretty good. It can even be great, especially on a hot day. But lemonade with vodka mixed in? That's a whole different happy fun time, am I right? 

No, this isn't an entry about drinking. This is an entry about why I drink.

(Kidding. Sorta.)

When I was 7, I wanted a boy to hang out with all the time. Girls were okay, but they didn't quite get me. Boys, however, did stuff. It seemed they were perpetually moving, and that intrigued me. I tried to keep up with them, sometimes with tragic results (tales for future blogs, perhaps). But when I could keep up with them in the right balance of ideas and physicality, it seemed magical. I also had a huge crush on magicians in general--and Harry Houdini in particular (along with Luke Skywalker, Mighty Mouse, and Tom Waits, who all seemed to possess some magic)--and it seemed like all the magicians were males. So when I was 7, I guess what I wanted most of all was to be closer to more of that male-magic.

When I was 14, I got my first boyfriend and finally got a glimpse of the magic from the inside ... or at least from the perspective of French kissing at the skating rink, the mall, or the hallways at school. It felt electric, like having everything turned on at once, senses heightened, and every distraction outside of that muted. The best part was that it seemed to turn off my brain and all of its own buzzing thoughts. It was calm and it was excitement. How did that happen? I had to know more! And then began a lifetime of seeking the ultimate version of that sensation. I was certain then that it couldn't come from myself, and again boys must have had something to unlock it. 

When I was 21, a boy took me to the circus ... not just any circus; that magical Cirque circus. He delighted me in ways that I'd never known, but he was always just a little out of reach. He also gave me another magical experience that scared me more than anything in my life to that point. I had to make a decision that forever marked the turning point from when I had been a carefree girl to suddenly realizing that I was an adult woman with big decisions to make. He told me, "I dig you, but I don't love you.," and he meant it--honestly, deeply, and with our any judgement. And yet I felt utterly alone. At that point, I only wanted to be inside that aloof place that had been kept just out of reach from me up to that point ... a longing to feel part of something bigger than me ... something that I hadn't been worthy of to that point ... and for some reason, it felt like boys held the key to that longing.

When I was 28, I had faced down that previous situation three more times, each time holding on and allowing the rapids to take me quickly down a stream of life that I may not have been prepared for, but had already pre-decided that I would accept the challenge anyway. This time I was with a boy who had no way of understanding emotions the way that I did (before the days of Asperger's common knowledge) and although I was inside that "part of something" thing that I'd longed to have, I still felt utterly alone. It only felt bigger than me in the way that a steamroller feels bigger than you, as it's rolling over you and trapping you in the freshly laid tar. Although seemingly bleak, I thrust out a deep desire for happiness to the universe ... asking for a chance at it for once, not knowing how big those ripples would get.

When I was 35, I was completely adrift from any relationships whatsoever ... and even from my relationship with myself. Years away from the relationship that had left me wanting so much more, years away from anything that would feel substantial, and coming out of the only life that I'd known for over a decade (academia), I felt lost. It seemed that the universe had forsaken me and given me instead some difficult, solitary path, full of false hopes and dead ends. I was grasping at whatever flotsam and jetsam floated my way, hoping something might stick ... thinking that I'd been too narrow-minded up to this point and had missed some great ships that I let sail without me. I made a film about what I might be like when when I might finally found my way, or when my way might finally find me. I didn't know who or how or why or when, and I was trying not to lose hope, but it seemed that all I could do was sink a few more seeds into the garden of future happiness that I was hoping would germinate someday.

Now that I am 42, I've experienced cultivating some of those seeds at last. I've intimately felt connected with that male-magic even before having an actual physical partner. I've unlocked some (though not all) of the aloofness, and discovered that much of it was coming from myself. I've discovered that my compass is only within myself and will not allow myself to forget it ... and yet, I still have some sort of longing that has been unmet. Something that makes me sad at times when I'm having trouble keeping aligned with what I want, and hopeful at others when I remember that I have more control over this than I'd previously known. There's a thing that's alluded me my whole adult life ... that feeling of growth that can come from being in a mutual, loving partnership. I have a glimpse of it right now, but I don't really have it in a tangible way. I feel like I get to take it for 2 or 3 night rentals, like a movie on weekends. But why would I be allowing only limited bites right now? The universe isn't Blockbuster ... it's a whole smorgasbord! I expect that I'll find myself lined up with nothing less than the whole shebang, as soon as I can get used to the idea of not having to give something back so readily. 

Will this new sense of ownership of my life come from the location that I'm renting from now, or will it come from some other location? I can't say from here. I just know that it's coming, and I've got some decisions to make in this pivotal year. Apprehension is diminishing, and eagerness is taking its place ... an eagerness to know the perspective that my 49-Up me will have of this time. 

Hmm ... come to think of it, maybe I do need a drink?