table for one, please
I have been so blessed by my intimate relationships.
Married twice. Grieved both divorce and death. Partners that became better friends. One that became the brother I never had, or perhaps did in another lifetime. Many that went on their merry way, down paths that were not for me nor was I invited.
From my intimate explorations I have come to better understand how I perceive need and want. The two fuzed and vexxed me for years. Slowly - as they came apart - the former became mine to tend and the latter, to ask of others. The former remains imperative, the latter optional and for assessment when it lands. Is this what I really wanted? Am I changed by its receipt? And if I did not get what I wanted, what too does that tell me?
It has been awhile but the philosophy that has rooted within me via exploration of human connection has not forgotten how it came to be. Barriers that were protective of the parts of me yet unknown. Boundaries that evolved as Gandolf-like wisdom; unapologetic statements of what I can and cannot be (anymore).
And that profound realization that took years. The stuff we identify as intergenerational. Pain my parents carried, rooted in what they were not given, that left me empty-handed as I stepped out. Except like many, my stepping was one forward and two back, into wounds that were not mine but that demanded my attendance. It is one hell of a ferret, to land upon that which you were never given. There is a relief and release. And then the unrealistic hope you will walk clean away (now). You are but part of a line, with you always. Learn to carry light.
Now when it hurts, I practice speaking to and for that proverbial inner child and her absences. What are the modern lessons - and loves - and what is the eternal part of me asking to be tended? Mothering myself.
And of course intimacy is not just of the romantic variety. For some reason very few are geographically close, but I could not be more blessed in my friendships. I grew up with such a minimal male influence in my life. I have worked hard to forge platonic connection with men, to gain from their world views, to further question and define who I am as a cis, hetero, monogamous, single woman. And my female friendships are what allows me to be truly vulnerable and ridiculous, but rarely at the same time. Is it still safe to eat this food item in my fridge? If I have asked you about expiration dates, you know that I trust you. Let’s talk of the every day and also what makes us deeply tick.
As I have walked forward with my inner child more comfortably at my side, I have spent more time contentedly alone. There is no embarrassment about how long it took to bring her forward. I know it could have been otherwise. I could have walked off this life when time, never understanding what my heart was telling me. What my gut needed. What my head never heard. But she is here now and I will speak for and to her. What stands before me? I am less nervous about not knowing.
So sometime soon I will reserve a table for one. I will likely take a book as my date and read a paragraph or two, turning it over to let my mind wander and my eyes cast about the evening space and draft stories about the people who have chosen to reserve tables for themselves too. Anyone else dating a book, like me? What words waft by from near conversations? How long have I been away from home and is my now one year old puppy fairing ok with my teenager?
Come back to the table, Jana. This time is just for you.