Both Sides Now

I wrote this last week, but internet was out and didn't have a chance to post it. At the moment I seem to be throwing myself back into the internet dating world, and have several dates lined up. And all the men have to compete with "John", but sooner or later, maybe something will click?

John said “Watch the pot” (referring to the soup reference from the previous entry), and all that goes through my head is “A Watched Pot Never Boils.”

But a couple of nights' sleep (isn’t sleep a wonderful thing?!) has given me a little more perspective. I think I know what I want (and that is a powerful thing, isn’t it?). I want to not have regrets about John in a few years. In a few years, if we aren’t together, I want to look back on him fondly and exchange Christmas Cards. What would destroy me is if he turns into another replay of Edmund. But John is no Edmund. Edmund, I think, was using me to boost his ego. Edmund had a great difficulty getting date. John could actually get dates quite easily and doesn’t need some chick to boost his ego. Furthermore, John and I have talked about this situation openly.

If I look at it from his side, I see that he has invested a lot of time and energy. And if I were to guess his most kind (and he is kind) response to my last entry, he would say “Yeah--the J-Girls were a disaster--isn’t that a good reason to try this a different way? I care about you--it is a chance, and you have to assess whether the possible risks outweigh the possible gains.” And if he asked me that, yes I would say the rewards outweigh the risks. I think

That said, I really can’t just wait. I need to figure out how to move on with my life. If something happens with John, that would be lovely. But I can’t turn into some crazy stereotype of an old-maid librarian with 71 cats. Anyone want to adopt a cat? Or 67?

I’m not going to cut John out of my life or my soul. I don’t think I’d have the willpower, even if I tried. But I can’t do this 50-e-mails-a-day routine. And I need to be less emotionally open with him.

I live in an area not particularly famous for its great weather. Rain is a well-known price for living here. But so often, it is how you look at things. The clouds this weekend were incredible:

Ice-cream castles in the air

And feather canyons everywhere.

It’s clouds’ illusions I recall. I really don’t know clouds at all.

Castles in the air. So beautiful, if you can appreciate the moment and not worry about getting absolutely soaked before you make it home to safety.

John has never understood why being open is linked to being vulnerable, but, for me, it absolutely is. “If you care, don’t let them know. Don’t give yourself away.”

‘Don’t give yourself away:’ that has been my motto for so much of my life. That sense that my introspection, my soul, my deepest fears and strongest desires--it is a limited resources. And I have to say, it is incredibly limited when it is not cherished. I’ve finished my romance novel, and 3 of my friends (and a friend of a friend who is a professional) are SO excited about it--so enthusiastic, and supportive--it makes it easier. But those people who have criticized the parts of it that are surrogates for me at my most vulnerable, they don’t realize how much it affects me, because they have no clue what is my imagination (I don’t actually live in India in just before the Great War ), nor does my family work for the crown with me trying desperately to escape colonial expectations of strict gender roles (sounds like a great romance novel, no? I’m looking for an agent...)). So when a friend said “Oh, there’s no way your character would be so weak just because a guy said “X” to her” I wanted to scream--“Don’t you see? That’s ME!”

So, in a way, John is right--it isn’t disclosure that makes me vulnerable. It is rejection around the non-public parts of me. And rejection is SO what I’m risking right now. I know John would say “Patience isn’t rejection.” But putting myself out there, whether in my personal or my professional life, it is very hard. And to do it over and over. I used to be able to. I lost that reservoir of resilience after 9-11 and haven't been able to build it back up.

“Something’s lost, but something’s gained in living every day.” What is lost? Safety. Security. A sense that if someone only knew me, that would be enough. The real me wouldn’t have been scrutinized and found wanting, so maybe I’m lovable--it is just my persona that isn’t. That is safer.

What is gained in living every day? Vitality. Truth. Honest Joy accompanied by honest sorrow and honest pain.

Intellectually, I’ll always choose the latter. Viscerally, it is harder to tell.