Let There Be Hope!

Not too long ago, I couldn't recognize a booty call when it was looking me straight in the eye.

Yes, I was An Innocent. Truly. Let me digress: so many of us are innocent, no matter how many men we've slept with, hearts we've broken, years we've spent in a relationship. This is why (one reason out of many) the Subject of Love fascinates: we never get it right (not quite) and there are a hundred (thousand, million) variations on the theme. Is Love biological or spiritual? Is it somehow both? And does it matter? Is your Love better or truer than mine? (a question someone in their darkest moments might ask) How do I find it, keep it, nourish it? What happens when I fall out of it?

Well, anyway, there are so many things to say, ask and wonder. As long as I have the time to write, I don't think this blog will die.

But back to Innocence: I've always been the sort to keep my cards close to the chest. I've played it cool, partly out of nervousness (no one would guess) and partly out of not being interested in 99% of the guys I met. And then I fell for ... Reggie (not his name). This was six years ago, and though he was tall and so very cute, I have no idea why I stayed with him for seven long months. (In fact, I was just thinking about this today!) We had nothing in common except a sense of humor. This was 2004, during the election, and Reggie was a dyed-in-the-wool Bush-lover (we're talking George, of course) and I was the polar opposite. (I've wanted to write something about it: "Love in the Time of Bush.") I've never been so angry, argumentative and awful. (Of course, it didn't help that my father died unexpectedly one week after the election. Poor Reggie.) Anyway, months after we broke up, Reggie would come around to "hang out" and I never realized that a booty call by any other name is still a booty call. What an idiot.

I've gained wisdom these last brief years, thanks in part to Evan Marc Katz. I still don't wear my heart on my sleeve and I still make mistakes (see TOTGA), but I can spot a booty call at 10 paces. And I don't have fairytale illusions about love. Love is a part of life (let's hope) and life is imperfect. It follows that Love will be, too. And I'm OK with that.

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And so we continue on, Guy and I. This is good, right?

(Yes. Yes, it is.)

And what to say except that I feel lucky to have met someone so generous and kind and sexy. I feel very grounded about Us. I haven't put Guy on a pedestal (as with poor TOTGA) but I appreciate him and care for him.

And, not to look a gift horse in the mouth, I wonder if this is love ... But I don't wonder it too much because at three months, does one need to know? It isn't like I have a biological clock clanging away. (Luckly, it's just the faintest ticking--easily ignored.)

And so what to do but enjoy and live in the moment? Love will come, if it's not already here.

DDoubt

(Yes, with double DDs)

I had a significant freakout last week.

A freakout to the extent that I clammed up, shut down, Did Not Communicate. So juvenile!

And Guy #1 behaved like an adult despite my behavior. He backed off and let me have my space and demonstrated heaps of dignity doing it. Wow.

I know, I'm leaving out the juicy details. Let's just say that we went to a wedding together and though I can't be certain, I think that was the cause of my panic. (Hi. Am I a commitmentphobe?) The wedding followed a romantic stay at a nearby hotel--right at our two-month anniversary. (And Guy is the sensitive, sweet, in-love type who marks anniversaries--so sweet!) I think it was just too much.

Much to my relief, five days apart set me to rights again. All last week I was sure we were headed for a breakup. I was sure I couldn't do this, that he wasn't the guy for me. And then Friday I wanted him.

Fickle and disgusting, sure, but I am relieved. I thought I'd have to look for a new therapist and start confessing my sins against men on a comfy couch again. (Not that that would be the worst thing in the world.)

Guy is just lovely. Where did those sharp, intense doubts come from? And will they come again? I sure hope not.