I just got done hanging out with some friends. It was beautiful. It was lovely. I love them both. I love the experience of being accepted, adored, appreciated in the same way that I accept, adore, and appreciate them.
And then I left, and it was sad. For a moment. I reminded myself I would have to leave at some point anyway. I’ve had similar feelings about many women I’ve been with, but the rush of mating hormones made it harder to back away. At least I haven’t kissed either of these folks (they’re dating each other, and I don’t think it will happen, though one never knows).
It felt like home. It felt like home.
On the walk back to my apartment, I wasn’t my normal, self-conscious self. Always fearing what was around the corner. Indeed, that didn’t click in for a long time.
I just moved to New York, and my experience has been one of almost constant tension and strain, fearing finding a job, fearing what might be around the corner, fearing the next, the next, the next.
All that went away with my friends tonight. It was magic. It’s a sweet state, a kind I’d like to live in with no one around, a kind of satisfaction rarely known, a time without fear or melancholy, just honest to goodness expressions of being flowing into this world, the way I want to feel all the time.
But I don’t know how when I’m alone.
Or do I?
Is it acceptance? Is it not needing to prove anything? Do I love the experience of my loved ones’ approval because, in those moments, I am being appreciated for what I naturally bring, and in appreciation, accepted?
Is solitude hard because of the feeling that I must become something else?
And did I just crack the code?
When I was with and left my friends tonight, I knew nothing else mattered. They weren’t all that mattered, but being alive with them, at that moment. That was what mattered.
I got home. I got on my computer and started browsing. I have two former lovers who have been/are on reality TV shows right now, and it’s breaking my heart. Why? I’m not sure why. Jealousy? Not of their stardom, but of the whole world seeing them. I suppose I was hoarding these two, in a way, making them something precious and “mine,” concocting memories and stories to limit their immenseness into something I could handle.
But I can’t handle it any more. And I can’t lie.
And they’re both so beautiful. And I’m scared that they’ll find other people who are beautiful. Other people who are somehow better.
And I guess that’s what I fear. Loss. Knowing I’m second best.
And that’s what I want to write about right now.
And it’s an odd juxtaposition, to go from family to frailty in a few short minutes and a few internet readings. Maybe this is the phenomenon of comparing lives to the lives posted on Facebook.
And the past.
Please make me be alright, my mind seems to be saying, seeking salvation in countering potential hurts or explaining away old ones it put on itself.
You understand. Don’t you?
And then I left, and it was sad. For a moment. I reminded myself I would have to leave at some point anyway. I’ve had similar feelings about many women I’ve been with, but the rush of mating hormones made it harder to back away. At least I haven’t kissed either of these folks (they’re dating each other, and I don’t think it will happen, though one never knows).
It felt like home. It felt like home.
On the walk back to my apartment, I wasn’t my normal, self-conscious self. Always fearing what was around the corner. Indeed, that didn’t click in for a long time.
I just moved to New York, and my experience has been one of almost constant tension and strain, fearing finding a job, fearing what might be around the corner, fearing the next, the next, the next.
All that went away with my friends tonight. It was magic. It’s a sweet state, a kind I’d like to live in with no one around, a kind of satisfaction rarely known, a time without fear or melancholy, just honest to goodness expressions of being flowing into this world, the way I want to feel all the time.
But I don’t know how when I’m alone.
Or do I?
Is it acceptance? Is it not needing to prove anything? Do I love the experience of my loved ones’ approval because, in those moments, I am being appreciated for what I naturally bring, and in appreciation, accepted?
Is solitude hard because of the feeling that I must become something else?
And did I just crack the code?
When I was with and left my friends tonight, I knew nothing else mattered. They weren’t all that mattered, but being alive with them, at that moment. That was what mattered.
I got home. I got on my computer and started browsing. I have two former lovers who have been/are on reality TV shows right now, and it’s breaking my heart. Why? I’m not sure why. Jealousy? Not of their stardom, but of the whole world seeing them. I suppose I was hoarding these two, in a way, making them something precious and “mine,” concocting memories and stories to limit their immenseness into something I could handle.
But I can’t handle it any more. And I can’t lie.
And they’re both so beautiful. And I’m scared that they’ll find other people who are beautiful. Other people who are somehow better.
And I guess that’s what I fear. Loss. Knowing I’m second best.
And that’s what I want to write about right now.
And it’s an odd juxtaposition, to go from family to frailty in a few short minutes and a few internet readings. Maybe this is the phenomenon of comparing lives to the lives posted on Facebook.
And the past.
Please make me be alright, my mind seems to be saying, seeking salvation in countering potential hurts or explaining away old ones it put on itself.
You understand. Don’t you?