poeticdesires

Category: Wisdom

  • Must Eat Pussy

    I have not been on OKCupid for long, but in my brief stint I have grown disheartened, disillusioned, and dis, I mean pissed, off in general by the crop of folk migrating my way.

    It seems so simple, and yet it also seems to be the hardest thing in the world: a person who I find attractive sending me a coherent thoughtful message.

    As such, I have decided to soon augment my profile with some information that will hopefully weed out unsuitable applicants who come upon my page. Of course they may just ignore my words all together, but at least I tried a little harder.

    Henceforth, here are some of the basic standards I intend to hold up as the introductory requirements for me even considering someone for possible dates.

    1) Thou shalt not be a douche.

    You can be an asshole, if you are a fun lovable asshole. There are assholes in my life that have done some asshole-ish things to me, but I asked for it. Assholes can make things way more interesting, can push you to be more honest than you might want to be. Fun lovable assholes are good.

    You can be geeky. In fact, I would prefer you at least be a little bit geeky. Geeky is fucking awesome. We can geek out about Battlestar Galactica or Harry Potter or the Avengers. We can share our geekiness with each other and marvel in all the geeky awesomeness that we are. Geekiness is a plus.

    You can be passionate, ecstatic, full of life and energy. You can run around ready to teach and learn and grow and shape the people around you and reshape yourself.

    You can be quiet, reserved, yet a totally great person I want to be around. You don’t need to be loud or boisterous. Just being yourself is great in and out itself, without all the bells and whistles.

    But a douche… 

    A douche brings everyone down. A douche turns awesome to awkward. A douche takes the party from YAY! to meh. I will find it very hard to like you, let alone date you, if you are a douche. No douches accepted; please keep it moving if you are a douche.

    2) Thou shalt not be a hermit.

    My last “relationship” involved me with an anti-social individual. Most of our time was spent at either my place or his (or ours when we moved in together). I tried to be happy with it just being us, or me leaving to go do things alone with my friends. All the time. Never with him. But I was lying to myself.

    I’m not saying I’ll expect us to do everything together, because no. But we will do some things together. 

    I can, at times, be a little social butterfly. Yes, I go to quite a few events and visit my friends all over this great planet. But if I had a partner, a person I was fully committed to, I would make more than enough time for us, just us. And then I would want you to come along for the ride, experiencing some of the fun stuff with me.

    I want a travel companion, a concert buddy, a hotel roommate, a lover, and a friend.

    3) Thou shalt talk.

    Not only was my Ex anti-social, he didn’t talk about his feelings. Ever. Very big problem.

    I’m not saying I expect us to go into marathon gab sessions where we explore the inner reaches of our moral code, dissect the influence of our parents and siblings on who we are, and finally realize the thing that has held us back from true enlightenment.

    But I do expect us to talk. Tell me if something upsets you. Makes you happy. How was your day? I want to know that. Is there something bothering you? Something you want to expound on that makes you happy.

    Talk. Because if you don’t then we will have problems because…

    4) We shall be poly.

    I am poly. I am poly. I don’t stop being poly just because I don’t currently have any partners, nor will I cease to be poly because the immensity of your love with fill me to the brim with all the blahblahblah.

    No. I am poly.

    I have the great capacity to love many people, and would love to have multiple special important lovers in my life. I want partners, dammit, and the idea of denying myself a full rich life because someone wants to change my mind or, worse still, change me, is heartbreaking. And a definite dealbreaker.

    I am all for us going slow, not jumping into a W configuration with random semi-permanent offshoots. But if poly is not a possibility for you, if merely the idea of multiple caring emotionally invested lovers does not compute, we shouldn’t even start.

    Inevitably, when I tell you about this person I met, or this friendship that is developing into something more, and you tense up, or turn cold, we will be done. You will make an ultimatum or remain quiet until one day blowing up at me, and that will be it. And what would our time together have been for if you lied to both me and yourself from the beginning.

    & 5) Thou shalt meet the basics and fucking exceed them.

    – You have a job or are actively searching for steady employment.

    – You own your own car or have the ability to transport yourself without my assistance.

    – You do not live with your parents. (Roommates, great. Parents, no.)

    – You can write grammatically correct sentences, which will then form a coherent paragraph, possibly leading to multiple thoughts encompassed in a short essay.

    – YOU READS BOOKS! Not a sports page. Not a magazine. But a book. (Bonus points if you know the reference. If not, your welcome.)

    – You have the ability to engage in intelligent thoughtful conversation on a range of topics and issues. (For example: You know the difference between Iran and Iraq. And you can find them on a map.)

    – You are not an ultra-conservative Republican. No. Just no. Trust me; no.

    – You are kinky, or you are kink aware and accepting, realizing I will need to find my kink elsewhere.

    – You wholeheartedly accept gay people, their civil right to marriage and families. 

    – You are pro-choice.

    – You enjoy whit and humor, both high and low brow.

    – You practice basic hygiene rituals. (See above link.)

    – MUST EAT PUSSY! This is a dealbreaker. Seriously, if you don’t eat pussy, don’t even say hi. Don’t try to be funny or witty or baby step around it. No. Just don’t. So. Fucking. Annoying.

    If you can abide by all of the above, and then some, then maybe, MAYBE you can date a poetic.

    Because that’s another thing.  Just because you meet the minimum doesn’t mean we’ll click.  It doesn’t mean I’ll find you attractive or you, after inspecting the goods, will find me attractive.  And that’s okay. 

    But, for the love of all that is good, the fact that people can’t even meet the minimum is rage-making.

    /rant

  • Two Notes On My Poly Adventure

    1) In my continuing kink/BDSM/poly education, I have started listening to Poly Weekly podcast. I highly recommend the podcast. Cunning Minx is kind of awesome.

    Recently, while partaking of a post during the dinner break at work, I heard about an interesting poly practice. It’s called the 100% Game.

    The rules are simple.

    1- Ask for 100% of what you want from your partner 100% of the time.
    2- Being willing to accept your partner’s answer.

    See, simple. Except, for a person like me who finds it rather difficult to put myself first in most situations, not so simple.

    Since I don’t have partners, I’ve instead tried to do this with my close friends, just as good practice, pushing myself to be more honest emotionally and making my needs/wants known and heard. Now, having read that last statement, you probably realized that “tried” was the operative word.

    I find it so hard to ask for what I want almost all the time. So hard. I have visions of people judging me, rejecting me, pitch forks and knives and such. And the thought of me asking for everything that I wanted all the time is not only scary but kind of exhausting. But I’m giving this a go anyway.

    I’ve had varying success, one notable instance that, when I look back on it, it was so simple yet so yes. I’ll keep you posted on how it goes.

    2) Upon the advice of Doc, I have joined OKCupid.

    In our last session, he talked about how I seem so open to new experiences in life, how adventurous I tend to be, except when it comes to making connections with people beyond friendship or random play.

    He worried that I was still holding myself back from possibilities of love entering my life, not to mention my ease at connecting with people far away as opposed to close by. (Obviously copying the lessons learned from my parents, i.e. distance is safe.)

    I was, and still am, reluctant to the process. I mentioned the website to a few of my vanilla friends, who recommended it, citing a few marriages that have come from it. I mentioned OKC (see, I’m learning the slang already) to some of my kink friends and they praised it for its openness to poly and kinky folk.

    So, I’m trying. It’s only been a few days, therefore I’m holding out judgement for now.

    One feature I do like about the site is the questions portion. Some are very random. Some are highly relevant (religion, sex, political views). The one down side is the site keeps dinging me for not giving importance to other people’s answers. I find myself easily answering most of the questions, but not really caring what other people think about them, mostly because I often don’t care what other people think.

    My only exceptions have been the sexual questions and the morality/political views. I, in my twenty-nine years on this earth, know I cannot date/hookup/hang out with anyone who is the polar opposite of my political views or sees my kinky life style in some sort of immoral fashion.

    Still, this is all very new. I have been getting lots of messages sent. Doc explained this would happen because I was fresh meat (his words, not mine) and would pop up in people’s feeds. I guess I’ll just have to see if anything comes of this.

    Once again, I’ll keep you posted.

  • Lessons From London

    1- Pack Light

    Lighter than what you think light is. And then even lighter than that.

    I landed in London and met CherryBondage at Heathrow airport. After a quick primer on the London Underground, as well as a handy little map that fit in my pocket (which I lost), we then proceeded to the Waterloo Station where we were to meet up with Gray and two other friends for lunch.

    For the next six hours I found myself snaking through London, back pack on my back, one carry-on bag lugged by CherryBondage, and my checked bag which I hauled. This was packing light for me.

    However, it was far from any notion of light. My hands hurt, even though I constantly kept switching them. My back hurt from the weight of my bag, though I would’ve taken that pain over my red palms any day. My legs ached as each time we encountered stairs, which happens a lot with the Tube, I carried my bag up each and every step.

    Later, when it was time for play, Gray was a bit shocked to learn I had brought my entire bootblack kit, the source of much of the weight. That first day, and then hauling all my things to go stay with Gray, and then hauling everything again when I left was enough of a lesson.

    I bought the bag for my travel bootblack kit yesterday.

    2- WiFi, always use it.

    Thankfully in London, WiFi is plentiful. Unfortunately I did not realize this until it was too late. Before left for England, I swung by the phone store to add international calls and texts to my plan, but not data.

    So, when I got lost and need directions (multiple times), I whipped out my phone and used GoogleMaps. I thought since I kept closing down the app each time I found my way, the cost would not accrue so badly.

    I was wrong.

    I got a helpful text after that first data usage day, warning me of my the large amount of money I already owed. After said text message, I put my phone down and only used it when there was WiFi. And, if you pop into just about any shop and ask the person behind the counter, they’re tell you the password.

    Use WiFi; it’ll save you money.

    3- London is wet; get used to it.

    It rained everyday I was in London. Not at every moment, but at least sometime during the day or night there was rain. After a while, I never walked out of a building without expecting at least a small shower or light droplets falling.

    And, I must say, I did get used to it. Having come from a dry and cold area, it was nice to have moisture in the air. My skin and hair appreciated the change, and it gave me a reason to wear all of my clothes. (In this one section of my packing, I actually budgeted correctly.)

    Skipped puddles, side stepping small sidewalk pools, and hopping large oceans in the street became a fun game I played with myself each time we went for a walk, which was often.

    London’s wet, but I liked it.

    4- The Oyster Card is your best friend.

    The public transportation system in London is excellent. The first thing CherryBondage did, once she nabbed me from the airport, was purchase an Oyster Card, the payment card for both the London Tube system and their buses. Paying for one week of unlimited Zone 1-3, as well as unlimited buses, and adding about five dollars to get me from the airport, was enough so that I never had to add anything to my card for the entirety of my trip.

    My Oyster Card sits now with my passport, ready for when I go back to England. Though I still think the name is a bit cheesy, the reasoning behind it is quite true. With the card, London is your oyster.

    5- Money: Post offices exchange currency without fees, everything costs double, & coin cash rocks.

    Money gets its own note because so much of my time was spent figuring out the math behind currency.

    Before I ever landed, CherryBondage gave me quite possibly the best tip ever: do not exchange money at the airport. Instead she spotted me the cash I needed for my oyster card and I paid for lunch with a credit card before we eventually made it to a post office.

    As I sat and ate at The Breakfast Club with our group of traveling kinksters, I looked down the menu and saw reasonable prices. I enjoyed a hot chocolate and pull pork burrito for just under $15, which included tip.

    And then we made it to the post office. Gray had previously stated a simple fact, but it didn’t click in my head until I exchanged my dollars for pounds: everything costs double. I gave the attendant $400; ha gave me 219 pounds back. I then understood why Gray had only ordered a smoothie and a dessert. My lunch had cost me about $30.

    Still there were was one advantage to the pound which I loved: their coin money. In England they have the one pound and two pound coin, which I had not realized was so convenient. I collected all my change in a pocket in my back pack, and just when I thought I was running low on funds, I realized most of it was jingling around with me. More than once my pocket of coins paid for my meal.

    I will definitely be giving the Sacagawea another go of it.

    So… those are just a few of the lessons I learned while in England visiting CherryBondage and attending the London Grue.

    The stories of my sexy times will be coming quite soon.

  • Ache

    As I walked down a less than crowded DC street, I felt sad. As I strolled, with plenty of time to reach my destination, I pondered my feelings, the subtle ache in my heart. I wondered, Why am I feeling this way?

    As per Doc’s request, I have been more tuned into my emotions in the moment, noticing how people feel about me, and actively noting my feelings towards others. I thought for a moment, thought about my day, and it hit me.

    I didn’t want to admit, still don’t want to admit it, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

    I miss the Gent.

    He came up briefly at my last session, just a passing mention that I hadn’t contacted him since August.

    But then, walking towards my gig, it hit me. Yes, I missed… miss him.

    I tried to think of why this was coming up now (since missing him has been mostly just background noise since I stopped contacting him). And I realized, almost as abruptly, that I was inadvertently triggered last night.

    I was pulled over by a cop at 3am, his only comment (since I wasn’t speeding and had not consumed any alcohol that evening) that I needed to change out my bike rack. Apparently part of it obstructs my license plate (grounds for a ticket). He gave me a verbal citation, asked me if there were any illegal items in the car (“drugs, guns.” “Oh God no!”) and then let me on my way.

    One of the last times I saw the Gent, one of the last times I saw his smile, big and wide filling his entire face, he commented on my bike rack. He asked me how often I rode, and when was the last time I used it. And then, in only a minorly asshole-ish way, he verbally jabbed me for having a bike rack but not riding my bike.

    As I walked down a DC street, past the Mall, dark at that time of night, I thought about him. As I passed a few people in the middle of Chinatown, a few faces made me think of him too.

    It was then I also admitted a hard fact to myself: I was sad each and every time his face did not pop into my view.

    I may never see him again, may never speak to him again, may never anything with him again.

    In one of my previous sessions with Doc, I likened my feelings about the Gent to alcoholism. Doc said I wasn’t that far off.

    My feelings, emotions, my desire to keep going back to a man who was not all that good for me is like fighting an addiction. My brain is hard wired to seek out love from unavailable people. I was given the example of an absent father and my brain has equated my mother’s relationship with him as to how love should be.

    But that is not the kind of love I want.

    When we started, the Gent was great. But then he began doing shitty things and never apologized for them. Cutting him off was, and is, a healthy choice for me.

    Everyday, every moment, I make the decision to not call, not text, not contact him. With every breath I am fighting my brain’s impulses, fighting my learned behaviour, fighting for a happier healthier love life.

    So far, I’m winning the battle, but who knows how long the war (and my resolve) will last.

  • Stood Up

    I was stood up tonight, and, funny enough, I am the happier for it.

    It was my work friend from Faire yesterday. We had arranged to hang out this evening, but he had to cancel; some bullshit he needed to take care of at home. We have already planned to reschedule for another day, though with Rope Camp so soon approaching it will not happen for some time. Still, it will happen.

    Now you may ask why I find myself the better for not having spent time with my friend. It is not for an obvious reason. He is a friend, a good guy, and I know we would’ve had fun today.

    The thing though is, almost as soon as I texted him the this morning, something told me he would cancel. This wasn’t exactly a sixth sense thing. I don’t claim to be prophetic, except occasionally in my dreams about inane things.

    No, it was my reaction to the situation that I am (mostly) happy with.

    When I initially texted him, he didn’t immediately respond; sign number one. My mind took all its normal leaps (yah know, the script that plays in my head, the mean-no-good-very-bad thoughts, the shit that I’m working through with Doc).

    At first I thought, Well fuck, he’s blowing me off. That sucks. He was going to be my Monday night entertainment. (cue Mad Men)

    And then came the shitty script.

    He’s blowing me off because he doesn’t really want to hang out with me. He just agreed to because he was drunk yesterday. Guess the harsh light of day had him change his mind.

    However, not a quick after but after, my active mind spun the scenario on my subconscious mind’s head.

    Hey, you’re doing it again. You’re jumping to a bunch of shitty conclusions with no evidence, luv. Don’t we remember Occam’s Razor’s? He probably is at work and didn’t get the message. Be patient. And, for that matter, how about you call him later (instead of text) to find out if you are still on?

    I set a time to call him, deciding to push all thoughts (as best I could) to the side about the situation until that then. I got ready like normal and headed out to perform the few errands I needed to accomplish before our supposed meet up.

    As I sat in my car waiting to pick someone up and give them a ride home, lo and behold I got a text. My work friend did indeed need to cancel because of aforementioned bullshit and wished to reschedule.

    As I sat in my car, a wave of relief came over me. No, my work friend is not a closet asshole. No, I am not a piece of shit. Life is not as horrible as my little brain wants to make it out to be.

    So no, I’m not happy that my brain did the mental jujitsu that it loves, spinning flipping kicking to the worst possible conclusion and making me feel like shit in the process.

    I am happy, though, that I actively worked against my learned training. I actively held out hope for the best. I went against program in my own little way.

    When it comes to the emotional roller coaster I struggle with daily, I will take my wins where I can get them.

  • Enemy Of Love

    They asked us to give voice to our enemy. Name it. What kept us all from love?

    Symbolized by a wood carving pulled around the fire, people confronted their enemy. They gave it a name. They shouted, screamed, cursed at it. I stood on the edge of the circle, barely able to contain myself.

    I closed my eyes, tilted my head to the sky, and let the tears trickle down my face. And then I whispered it.

    “Jealousy. Fear. Despair.”

    As I let the pain wash over me, more came.

    “I am more than my mistakes. I am not worthless.”

    I said it as much to myself as I did to the enemy of love.

    I am my own enemy. Even with the work I’ve done with Doc, even with the emotional growth I’ve had, I can’t deny those feelings linger. I can’t ignore the constant soundtrack in my head belittling myself.

    But then the chorus started.

    “Burn him! Burn him!”

    They set the enemy of love onto the fire. The flames licked up and over came it. And, for a moment, I let out a breath. I wiped away my tears with the sleeve of my hoodie. For a moment, for the night, I let go.

    I repeated a mantra in my head.

    “I am more than my mistakes. I am not worthless. I am full of worth.”

    People danced around the fire. Loved ones hugged and rejoiced.

    I stayed on the edge of the circle, stayed my distance. Like most of my camp, my heart was there and not there.

    The ritual completed, they invited people to play and fuck as they pleased. I crept over to the body painter and just like last year he adorned my flesh. His artwork complete, I watched people spin fire poi. And, when I was ready, I crept back up to my cabin.

    Though I knew my enemy wasn’t conquered, for a night I felt some of the weight lift. For brief moments, I smiled and felt almost light. And, as I slipped into my sleep, I repeated my mantra from the ritual.

    “I am more than my mistakes. I am full of worth.”

  • Anxious

    “Boring and more sedate is good for you.” – Doc

    As he read off the characteristics, one-by-one, I wanted to laugh. There I was in black and white. Well, actually he was reading off of his e-Reader, so maybe black and beige. But still…

    At the start of our session today, I asked Doc to talk more about attachment styles. He had spoken about it last session and I wanted greater detail.

    So, to drive the idea home, Doc pulled up the style we had agreed I was, anxious/avoidant. I’m a mixture, so I guess I’m kind of special in the not-so-fun way.

    (For reference, about 50% of the population is secure, while the other 50% are insure/ambivalent/anxious, avoidant, or a mixture.)

    As he read, point after point hit home.

    – Has a hard time not making things about themself.
    – Lets partner set the tone. (That one got a big guffaw.)
    – Fears small acts will ruin the relationship.
    – Difficulty explaining what’s bothering them.
    – Expresses insecurity in the relationship.
    – Puts their partner on a pedestal.
    – Feels like this is their only chance for love; it’s too hard to find someone compatible for them.

    And this was only the anxious side. When it came to my avoidant nature, though it was not as prominent, still a few points resonated.

    – Values independence.
    – Unrealistic romantic views.
    – Mistrusts; fears being taken advantage of.
    – Doesn’t make intentions clear.
    – Difficulty talking about what’s going on between them and their partner.
    – Says or thinks they are not ready to commit, but stays with partner for years.
    – Forms relationships with impossible futures.

    So, with that info dump, Doc and I then started talking.

    We pinpointed that I am more anxious than avoidant, and many of my avoidant traits come from my reactions to avoidant people.

    Unfortunately, because of my parents as models, I subconsciously seek out avoidant people as potential partners because my father was avoidant (my mother was/is anxious).

    Doc cautioned me about my “in love” feeling. For me, we’ve identified “in love” as the reved up feeling I get from being juiced by someone who is avoidant (see The Gent). I get a taste of the person, and then they pull away.

    Doc pointed out because I am so used to the up and down, to the high, I have yet to feel the secure middle. He explained that that security is what love feels like. Feeling secure in yourself, your relationship, the person you are with; no constant emotional roller coaster. Yes, there will be highs and lows, but the “boring and sedate” baseline is what I now must work towards.

    Doc asked me to think about my friends. What kind of attachments do I form with them? Are they secure? Avoidant? Anxious? He encouraged me to use these examples when looking at potential partners.

    And now that I’m armed with the knowledge that this is how my brain works, Doc also encouraged me to try to remember this each time I worry that a small faux pas will create turmoil, or when I think so highly of someone else while putting myself down.

    But, most importantly, Doc reminded me to go for security, not instability; love will flow from there.

  • My Heart

    One of the latest long term homework assignments Doc has given me is quite simple, yet also very effective.

    Everyday I tell myself that I love myself.

    It’s often in the car when I’m alone, listening to music, speeding along to here or there.

    Occasionally it’s when I’m sitting around with friends.

    Once it was when I was about to start working, knowing that day’s crew had two people I didn’t care for.

    Each time I use a easy method Doc suggested: I touch my heart. On my chest, just to the left, I rub in small circles, applying pressure until I feel the beating.

    It is an amazing and humbling moment each time I feel my heart beat.

    When I’m alone, I usually say it out loud.

    “I love you. I love you.”

    I usually say it about five times, sometimes more, sometimes less.

    Often I tear up. Doc says that’s because it is a sentiment that is hard for me to take in, hard for me to accept, hard for me to believe. It stems from my self worth issues, the neglect from my father, and the example of my mother as a doormat.

    My father never told my mother that he loved her.

    Do you love yourself?

    I love myself…sometimes. I like myself most of the time.

    Sometimes, though, I don’t. Sometimes I am mean and downright cruel to myself.

    Sometimes the background noise in my head points out every defect, small and large, and amplifies how much I don’t love those parts of me, even though the sum of it, all of it, makes me.

    Sometimes I want to scream and gnash my teeth and rage at myself and the world.

    But only sometimes.

    More often then not, especially lately, I’m good. More often then not, I love me, flawed imperfect me. Changing, ever growing me.

    But always, whenever I put my hand over my heart, and say those three words, over and over again, I feel wondrous. I feel joyful. My heart is full, almost bursting. I feel loved.

  • Two States Away

    I saw my Ex at The Floating World.

    I looked about one hundred feet across the playspace, near its entrance, and there he was. I instantly recognized the brown skin, bald head, and stocky build.

    I immediately turned around.

    For good measure, I looked again. Yup, it was him. I turned back around.

    I followed a friend outside and stood with them as they smoked. I took deep breaths and tried to forget I had just seen my Ex, who I believe didn’t see me.

    Two states away, yet he was there.

    Two states away and this was the first time I’d seen him at an event. I suppose I should feel lucky. It took two years and two states for it to finally happen.

    Though, really, it didn’t happen. He never saw me.

    After chatting with my friend outside, he departed and I went back into the play area. I found a person I’d offered some rope time to, and we went over some basic ties. I taught her the gunslinger harness and two basic chest ties. I showed her how I could suspend myself (though I never do) by simply sitting into a gunslinger. (I find it too uncomfortable.)

    I talked about more basic rope info: types of rope, lengths, diameter. I encouraged her to take more classes and practice practice practice. She left happy.

    When I packed up my rope, I found Big Bro and watched him tie for a spell. I saw my Ex pass by while I stood near a vertical support beam. He was walking about fifty feet away, heading for the door, I assumed after having played. I never saw him again.

    So no, it hasn’t actually happened. He hasn’t seen me. Event me. PoeticDesires me.

    In my new clothes, with hair curly, wearing my boots.

    He hasn’t seen me tie, or get tied. He hasn’t seen me give cigar service. He hasn’t seen me bootblack. Hasn’t seen me get pummeled, with the tears and sobs and snot.

    He hasn’t seen who I’ve become since I left him.

    I don’t know if he knows how I’ve changed, how much I’ve changed, since I made the hard decision to not hang on to him, to not hang on to what was us.

    As I drove home yesterday, and thought about my event, I regretted not going up to him, not talking to him, not at least saying hi. I regretted that I felt the need to avoid him, to not engage, to not try to be if not friends than friendly.

    I didn’t get to talk to Doc about this today, but I have the distinct feeling he would say something like, “Why would you try to be someone you’re not?”

    In the moment, I needed to not talk to him. In the moment, I felt it best to not go there.

    So I didn’t go there.

  • Commitment

    A few things from my day.

    It’s Tuesday, which more often then not lately has meant I get to see Doc.

    As we talked about the happenings of my past week, my practice of his homework assignments, and things bugging my brain, an interesting topic came up: commitment.

    Well, more to the point, my lack of commitment.

    I’ve found myself in a freelance job that requires no commitment. I can take on as much or as little work as I want without fear of loosing my position, so long as I do my job well when I am there.

    I am not in a relationship, nor are prospects likely that I will be in one anytime soon.

    I’ve rented for the entirety of my adult life and actually never want to own a home.

    I can trace back all of my non-commitment choices to fear.

    I fear opening myself up emotionally to people, keeping most at semi-arm’s length, and thereby shutting out those I could be more with.

    I love my job, and my career field, but I’ve chosen to not accept positions that were more stable, many times over, because I feared the shackles of a normal 9-5 work week.

    With the housing crisis, and seeing my mother deal with her home, which is paid off, I know I never want to own a house.

    Fear of being hurt. Fear of being trapped. Fear of financial collapse. Fear. Fear. Fear.

    Doc said the one thing I seemed to be committed to was my lack of commitments.

    And then, the second moment of my day occurred.

    I held in my arms a tiny human, less than two weeks old, who hiccuped and sneezed and kicked my belly. I held my niece, a new person to this world, for the first time this evening.

    She is so so tiny, with tiny fingers and tiny feet and beautiful slate blue eyes.

    “Every baby in your arms in the cutest baby in the world.” My gem for the evening.

    But she is so very cute.

    Holding her, in my lap, in my arms, and against my chest. Feeling her breathing. Feeling this little life in my hands. I damn near cried a few times, though I didn’t let my friends see.

    Talk about commitment. My friends have a daughter. A year ago they were trying and now they are parents.

    I think back on me telling Doc today the things I wish to accomplish to fulfill my life. Become a published working author. Get married. Have kids.

    And I rightly pointed out that my fear of commitment is seriously hampering my hopes, seeing as everything I listed requires the most solid of commitments.

    And then I held a tiny human in arms.

    And I knew, no matter the fear, no matter the extreme levels of terror and dread, that indeed a family is what I want.

    I don’t know when. I don’t know how. But I certainly know it’s what I absolutely want for my life.

    Of course how I’m going to get it is another story.