Astigmatism and Nearsightedness

This guy I dated once has an online column.

Damn, I'm already messing this up. That statement was a ruse. He's not just "this guy I dated once," he is an important friend in my life, albeit in a satellite, "The Way We Were" kind of way. We don't talk much anymore. But every once in a while, he pops up into my head and I smile. I had fun, I learned my lessons, and am thankful. It got me to where I am today.

This online column has got me thinking, though, not about my thankfulness or new and improved way of dealing with my beau. It's got me thinking about knowing yourself. In this month's juicy submission, he explores his newfound joy in realizing that he prefers being alone. According to him, in a half-assed paraphrase that hardly does his words justice, he knows now that women's intense craving for intimacy takes up too much RAM in the old computer, and the system crashes.

Doses of the raw, crackling innards of this man come every once in a while. When they do, be it at that web address or next to him on the couch drinking a 40 oz, it's staggering. Like Uma Thurman sitting bolt upright, spittle on her chin and coke residue on her nose, but in words. That kind of thing.

"How can I cradle their frowns and smiles when I'm constantly struggling to balance my own self?" he writes. I think this is a beautiful fucking sentence. It buoys me up, because I am excited by the freedom can come from a little self-awareness. He is pretty hard on himself for not being present in a relationship, but unable to compromise his desire to be alone (may I take this opportunity, my darlings, to give him some creds and tell him at least one of the exes doesn't think he did a terrible job).

He says that he is alone in feeling like this. He calls himself a mutant. But I think he's being a little hard on himself. He's just being more honest than the other millions of people who are like him at one time or another.

This inspires me. I hope that my poor vision of the present will soon receive some kind of metaphoric lasik surgery, and I will be able to see clearly like this. What a wonderful world we could live in if we all could say this kind of thing right in the moment. Transcend the animal within and live on some other plane of existence, where hunters and gatherers don't exist, and all things are possible.

Whoah. Hold on. I'm starting to sound like some wacky self-help guru that sells CDs with pictures of clouds on them. Just a second. Let me get a hold of myself, here goes...I wonder if he ever cared about anything I said? If I was bothering him, I wish he would have told me. I guess he was just biding his time. What about my boyfriend now? Does he think I talk too much and take away his personal time? Am I fat?

There. I got to be a regular old gal for a second.

With that all behind me, I prefer to hit somewhere between "Fully Enlightened" and "Fucking Mess," leaning towards the former. I know that I have no control over what people are and aren't willing to tell me, so the responsibility lies within. I have to know and communicate what I need, and I have to know if my special someone is willing to give it to me. Done and done. Anything else is immaterial. And, as an important afterthought, I date people who are trustworthy and courageous, which means that I trust them to have the cajones to say something difficult if it means improving our relationship.

It's my job to make it a safe environment for my man to tell me things I might not want to hear. Like that I should shut the fuck up. And for all you lovelies out there who plan on putting it in my comments section, I am one step ahead of you. Putzes.

I don't know what's in store for my friend. I wonder where life will take him...as long as he keeps writing, he'll be fine, I think. I believe that writing is his magical talisman, and poon is not. I do feel pretty confident that he's going to have to reevaluate at some point, since this fragile ballet always seems to change mid-performance.

your girl is lovely, hubble. g