So I met someone recently. Someone of interest. Someone who is available and near me and interesting.
When I meet people of interest, though, a huge chemical reaction takes place inside of me. It happens so rarely that when it does occur, I attach to the idea of him and detach from who I am. My independent and pro-feminism brainwaves are put on hold. My self-confidence is nearly forgotten. I see only the potential light at the end of the tunnel, the utopia of being in love with this person and thriving in that love for the end of times.
To reach this utopia, however, I have to get to know this person and in turn he has to get to know me. That’s obvious and necessary in any relationship. But this attachment I feel, this odd almost physical pulsing within me to get him to fall in love with me, demands urgency. For example: within ten days of meeting this man, I began to get nervous and extremely upset that he hadn’t asked about any of my demons yet. Why hadn’t we told one another about our exes? Or about the number of people we’ve slept with? When would we discuss family issues and our biggest fears? Or about our belief/disbelief in God? And there came a day that this anxiety soared into depression. I began to think I wasn’t enough and then sprang to a new belief that he was an idiot for not seeing how tremendous I am. It was an exhausting day that ended with me sending him a text too long and expectant.
This man, so laid back and undisturbed by relationship anxieties like I am, took the text in stride. He responded, reminding me it’d only been two days and that me asking if he was interested wasn’t quite fair. And then he made a joke. And I finally stopped crying and realized that perhaps the way I’ve been trying to get to know potential love interests for the past year and a half has been horribly wrong.
You see, I have this intense desire and passion to be in love again. The end-of-times romance I still believe in somehow- that’s what I want and what I throw on anyone of interest. And it’s such an insatiable need that I can’t help but cup the entirety of my soul in my palms and hand it over to whomever I’m interested in. Because my soul is beautiful and mystical and ethereal and who wouldn’t fall in love with such a thing?
But what I’ve learned from spending time with Luke is that sometimes patience and slowness are good, necessary even. Sometimes it is possible and even better to be reserved. He doesn’t have to know the entirety of the complex relationship between my father and me for him to fall in love with me. A number of past partners will not shed light on anything within a human being. I’m getting to know him organically rather than playing 21 questions and believing that those answers define a person indefinitely.
At 4AM the other night, naked and sore and tired, he asked into the darkness about my exes. And we talked about it and it felt right. Like everything else has with him. Like his first impression felt- handsome, funny, playful, and attentive. He thinks that everything is within a first impression; I think everything is within the first kiss. Either way, he wins.
He’s teaching me patience without even realizing it. I like this. I really really like this.