Dearies, my dear dearies. My apologies for a prolonged silence (well, for me). It's been a thoughtful few days and I haven't wanted to write anything, so busy was I chewing my mental cud. Rumination is a solitary task. Sometimes it's best to just chew away in silence until you've got something you can swallow.
So. In case you're wondering, I did get to see my friend when he was passing through the city earlier this week. Twenty-six hours of walking, banter, honest conversation, good eats, hot tubbing, mutual affection and general randiness. Lovely, lovely, lovely. I've never had a chronic friendship like this, and am finding it alternately touching and frustrating.
I've accepted that for the time being, the romance factor is secondary due to the tug of ambition each one of us faces. Neither is in hospitable circumstances for a relationship, with each other or other potential candidates. We're focused on seizing individual opportunities. Both of us have felt thwarted or restrained from pursuing (in my case, even identifying) our desires by past relationships, and are now intent on realizing them. This entails a peripatetic lifestyle for the two of us, in opposite directions for now.
At least in my case, this doesn't mean I like it 100%. I have great love for this person, great curiosity about the "What if...". There's also self-doubt, a nagging fear that he may be quite capable of resisting my myriad charms in the end.
That said, he is sincere and direct about wanting my happiness, whatever form that may take. Hearing him say this is greatly reassuring, and gives me confidence in going after it. In summary: I'm not at all certain of the definition, but am grateful for this love in my life.
That said, let me re-visit the title of this post. Yes, crapping my pants as the events of the past two weeks have led me to an unexpected epiphany. At first, I pushed it away as just a silly fancy, but it immediately came right back and sat down and still will not leave. I've been humouring it, sitting with it expecting to find its fatal weaknesses and escort it out the door in due course. Instead, it's seducing me in its outlandishness, roiling my guts and making me alternately hyperconstipated and on the verge of an explosive accident. In short, I'm falling in love with this idea.
I've done some interesting things in life so far. Atypical things, exciting things, foolish and risky things. However, I can't get away from the nagging feeling that I've been caught up in the adventures and ideas of others. I no longer want to be a sidekick.
That said, a couple of the alternatives I've been hatching for after my house sells and I can close out this chapter of my life, well, they now seem like very safe alternatives. Cool, exciting, fun, potentially lucrative, but safe. I'm almost 37, a good place to be. I have good health and looks, ever-diminishing responsibilities, and most importantly, the means (shortly) to do something wacko and life-altering.
One of my original options looks now to be highly unlikely, as my business partner is dealing with a family health crisis. It'll take some time for recovery. It's major enough to send him in a completely different direction than we'd planned, on his own pursuit of what matters to him. I wish him only happiness. The fates have intervened, and there's no good trying to argue when they send such an emphatic message. A time to fight and a time to cede gracefully: not drawing that distinction leads one to get muddled beyond belief. It's terrifying to lose sight of oneself.
Plan B is schooling in another city. This would be fine, more than fine. I could learn and be stimulated and have a variety of potential sexmates and eat exotic foods and set myself up with a nice life in the big city in my own country. I could make do and enjoy. But, always a but.
It has been hard for me to figure out what I like to do. This deserves zero pity; I'm blessed with the luxury of choice when most people on the planet suffer daily just to survive. Gratitude, it's good to feel you.
Accepting that, I've still been stuck trying to define my "passion". Good lord, most people appear to have this shit figured out; they find or create or at least know the things that nourish them. Whereas I've felt fradulent for so long, adapting to my surroundings like a cheerful chameleon. Not questioning why my colours change so readily.
The last several months, I've been stuck in neutral. I've made minimal progress on every front, other than the day to day logistics of getting by. I've been patient without knowing why, had faith when I've had no cause to even entertain it, and yes, rapped my head against the wall a few times in consternation.
Three days ago I was struck with an idea, totally out of left field. It has purpose, it has form, it has meaning and intent to me alone. All previously lacking. So for now, I chew away some more, and try not to make messy-time in my drawers.
Bear with me,
G
PS In case you're wondering how dating life is, I don't know. The date's been struck down with the Mancold and is in hiding, texting me "keeping lo pro 4 now", aka leave me alone. Could he too have a fever blister, wonders I? Is he repellent in his illness, or having his own rendezvous elsewhere? Have I scared him off inadvertantly? Only the Shadow knows...but I'll get to the bottom of it too and let you know.
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