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Distraction, destruction, detachment, disengagement, deviation, desertion, death.
I am hyper-aware of this point in relationship. I watch myself grow. I revel in my own honesty, my realness, my likedness in this state. It is still new, slightly unbelievable. I enjoy it, I believe briefly that life could be full of this healthy, honest, enjoyable type of engagement from here on out.
But in the back of my mind there has been a list of questions. Questions I am in fact not too good to ask, but too guilty. These questions assume a want in you. They assume a need for your approval, for your like, for your desire. I catch myself as these questions surface, I call them a silly part of my past and I wait for them to be argued out of existence by my logical filtering squad.
These doubts are not part of the dream. These questions not a piece of the quest. So they have no place, but buried. Do you find me attractive, pretty, or did you ever? It’s insignificant, he doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter, never will. Do you think I’m cheap, shallow, a product of my culture, do you judge me like the rest of them? Don’t think that, he’s not judgmental, be more confident, don’t fear judgment unless you’re guilty. Are you just playing along, letting me be stoked to be with you, letting me feel close, but really having that feeling in the back of your mind that you have to end it sometime soon? This is your anxious past, this is the part of you that is only allowed to be disappointed in yourself and no one else.
I celebrate my reality, and then recoil into non-existence. If you acted hurt, or confused, that might have added the touch of drama to have made it all worth it, so keep that in mind. Suddenly, I will be colder, harder to get a hold of, less sensitive, less subject to my own whims and emotionally initiated activity. I will circulate the idea of your feelings, but in the end decide that you are relieved.
I lived this dreaded life five-years-ago. And someone taught me to believe the reasons why the questions were silly, but still to ask them if I couldn’t believe myself. He taught me to remember that relationships are more than about me, not so that I would feel guilty and selfish, but so that I would remember that the risk runs both ways. To another, I am a risk worth taking, just as they are to me.
Don’t just settle for being loved, love’s everywhere. Your parents love you, and I know you wouldn’t date them… when he told me to embrace the idea that my soul could actually have another half in this world, in this life. That would be nice.
Anymore, it is not about romantic relationship, it’s not about marriage and soul-mates in the eighties-movie-deeply-staring-into-your-eyes-and-i-knew kind of way. It’s about my never ending homesickness, my discomfort on this planet. I asked God why I always felt this discomfort like blue jeans made of sand paper. It isn’t unbearable, but it sure as hell isn’t comfortable. But even then, there was a peace to it, that even alone on this planet I would have a dream to keep me moving forward in joy.
And as I accept my solitude: my need for God only and no home, no family, no lover; I encounter these people, like places where my soul does feel at home. One is the blue jeans minus the sand paper, one is that china team shirt that is too soft not to be important, one is my nest, one is my sunbathed deck on the Mediterranean coast, one is my studio in Frisco.
So I trust God, but not myself. What if I accept that my soul can be comforted, rested, embraced, nourished, in a way that includes relationship with other people? Then I feel better, happier, healthier—nervous God will take it away, some brilliant lesson of His, of course. Afraid that I will love having a home so much I will forget to be engaged in life. Terrified that I will forget that heaven isn’t here.
And in the quiet of this late night, God calms my soul. He asks me to enjoy the home. We know I may never own a house, a new car. The nice things may stay at my childhood home that I abandoned as I left my mother and father and married my dream. The Great Giver asks me to put on the comfy jeans and soft tee, to sleep in my nest, absorb the sun’s energy on the deck, let art revive me in the studio. He loves me so much. He gives me homey places, though he has taught me not to need or expect them. He loves me so very much.
I am hyper-aware of this point in relationship. I watch myself grow. I revel in my own honesty, my realness, my likedness in this state. It is still new, slightly unbelievable. I enjoy it, I believe briefly that life could be full of this healthy, honest, enjoyable type of engagement from here on out.
But in the back of my mind there has been a list of questions. Questions I am in fact not too good to ask, but too guilty. These questions assume a want in you. They assume a need for your approval, for your like, for your desire. I catch myself as these questions surface, I call them a silly part of my past and I wait for them to be argued out of existence by my logical filtering squad.
These doubts are not part of the dream. These questions not a piece of the quest. So they have no place, but buried. Do you find me attractive, pretty, or did you ever? It’s insignificant, he doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter, never will. Do you think I’m cheap, shallow, a product of my culture, do you judge me like the rest of them? Don’t think that, he’s not judgmental, be more confident, don’t fear judgment unless you’re guilty. Are you just playing along, letting me be stoked to be with you, letting me feel close, but really having that feeling in the back of your mind that you have to end it sometime soon? This is your anxious past, this is the part of you that is only allowed to be disappointed in yourself and no one else.
I celebrate my reality, and then recoil into non-existence. If you acted hurt, or confused, that might have added the touch of drama to have made it all worth it, so keep that in mind. Suddenly, I will be colder, harder to get a hold of, less sensitive, less subject to my own whims and emotionally initiated activity. I will circulate the idea of your feelings, but in the end decide that you are relieved.
I lived this dreaded life five-years-ago. And someone taught me to believe the reasons why the questions were silly, but still to ask them if I couldn’t believe myself. He taught me to remember that relationships are more than about me, not so that I would feel guilty and selfish, but so that I would remember that the risk runs both ways. To another, I am a risk worth taking, just as they are to me.
Don’t just settle for being loved, love’s everywhere. Your parents love you, and I know you wouldn’t date them… when he told me to embrace the idea that my soul could actually have another half in this world, in this life. That would be nice.
Anymore, it is not about romantic relationship, it’s not about marriage and soul-mates in the eighties-movie-deeply-staring-into-your-eyes-and-i-knew kind of way. It’s about my never ending homesickness, my discomfort on this planet. I asked God why I always felt this discomfort like blue jeans made of sand paper. It isn’t unbearable, but it sure as hell isn’t comfortable. But even then, there was a peace to it, that even alone on this planet I would have a dream to keep me moving forward in joy.
And as I accept my solitude: my need for God only and no home, no family, no lover; I encounter these people, like places where my soul does feel at home. One is the blue jeans minus the sand paper, one is that china team shirt that is too soft not to be important, one is my nest, one is my sunbathed deck on the Mediterranean coast, one is my studio in Frisco.
So I trust God, but not myself. What if I accept that my soul can be comforted, rested, embraced, nourished, in a way that includes relationship with other people? Then I feel better, happier, healthier—nervous God will take it away, some brilliant lesson of His, of course. Afraid that I will love having a home so much I will forget to be engaged in life. Terrified that I will forget that heaven isn’t here.
And in the quiet of this late night, God calms my soul. He asks me to enjoy the home. We know I may never own a house, a new car. The nice things may stay at my childhood home that I abandoned as I left my mother and father and married my dream. The Great Giver asks me to put on the comfy jeans and soft tee, to sleep in my nest, absorb the sun’s energy on the deck, let art revive me in the studio. He loves me so much. He gives me homey places, though he has taught me not to need or expect them. He loves me so very much.
3 comments:
Courtney-
Your words are so wonderful. I loved this post.
I love how real you are - so free and honest. So mature, yet still on the journey.
Weeping but ready for the next adventure/challenge.
You have the heart of a champion.
-mike morabito
ps. are you a pirate...or are you just happy to see me?
Mike, your words are kind in an authentic way. Thank you. and yes, I am both a pirate and happy to see you on as many occasions as possible, and hopefully someday simultaneously.
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