My posts to the blog so far have been somewhere in-between fun spirited sass and hot blooded energy. Today's will be different.
It's foggy in the city, my body is exhausted from too much exercise, and all I can do is sink into my sea of blankets to do my ritualistic monthly philosophizing. P.M.S. Premeditated Melancholy Sunday.
Someone once told me that love is never predictable or certain. If it was, we would probably crave it much less.
Do we crave love? Or do we fear it? And once it hurts us in unpredictable ways, do we ever fully recover?
Two of my good friends Layla and Raphael are going through the growing pains of their relationship. It's painful to watch. I know oh too well that love isn't always enough to keep us together when the world tempts us in so many other directions. It's timing, not strength of heart that dictates the future. Remember the one 'perfect' relationship in your past that somehow ripped down the middle as the two of you chose different directions in life (i.e. "I must study in South America")? Or different people ("she just was less complicated")? If Layla and Raphael part ways, I wonder if the hurt they endure will change their outlook on life. How well will they recover?
Ahhhhh....the pains of amore...just like sports injuries, getting back to 100% is challenging. There is always some lingering ache.
In all the heartbreaks of my past, there was only one that was truly mine. Two years of amour a la folie. And then it ended. Abruptly. Probably the only time I was able to throw something with perfect aim. After I dislocated my shoulder from said throw and spent a good year recovering in all the typical ways---bottles of wine, packs of cigarettes, and flings with men named Fabio, I re-emerged. But I am not sure my shoulder or my heart were ever the same.
Once our hearts are broken, are we more fearful than excited about new prospects? Is casual preferred because anything more intimate puts us in jeopardy all over again? I worry that even though yes yes yes we crave love, we fear the risk of pain too much to let ourselves ever get there.
Downtown in the city smoky jazz plays. In the dark room I swoon over my martini and the throaty voice of the blues. I see a familiar dark handsome stranger across the room. I bat my eyes. But once he comes over...somehow something on my right shoe becomes really really interesting. I keep my head down and refuse to look up. As he walks by I can smell the scent of passion and its intoxication terrifies me. I like control too much to risk the exhilarating fall.
Okay so perhaps this exact situation exists solely in my head...but similar encounters have happened countless times over the years. From jazz clubs to karaoke stages. And last night it was a wine bar. As soon as my eye flirting partner came over to talk I pretended I was Estonian and didn't understand English. The perfect tall banker/biker man left confused. Mazz, who was with me, told me that if it were up to my dating savvy, I didn't deserve to live. But after l'amour de ma vie, the men I have chosen have either been too dead end to worry about being safe, or too safe I knew they'd be dead end. No risk. And no reward.
Career changes. Relocations. New sports. New languages (although strangely not Estonian). Every risk in life I took was worth it. I just wish I had it in me to switch out of datus hiatus and let myself risk the greatest thing of all.
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