It suddenly occurred to me as I sat here looking at WordPress themes, and widgets, and fancy blog-like things, that I am spending much more time looking at how this blog looks than actually writing on it. I’ve been looking at other blogs, looking at your memes, your run schedules, your fancy add-ons, and wondering how, if anyway, I can start writing an actual blog post.
It all started in December when I was swept off my emotional footing with having real actual feelings for a man I knew many years ago…He is a Facebooker, I am a Tweeter. We both Foursquared, and that’s how we tried to stay connected in the social media world. We had fun. We talked. We fell in love.
And…in this relationship, it turns out, I am called on to be fully present. There is no more shoving stuff under the rug or being sarcastic or criticizing outloud or non-verbally. I’ve been challenged to be real and truthful and PRESENT. And that my friends, is very difficult for this girl.
Months ago if you had asked me what kind of man I was looking for, I would have told you someone who is honest, won’t cheat on me, won’t lie to me, won’t hurt me. All of my criteria started with the word “won’t”…I didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew what I didn’t want…And, this list kept me a victim to all of my past relationships. Please don’t use cocaine, and please don’t sleep with my baby-sitter and please don’t lie to me and tell me yes when you absolutely mean NO. Please give me money and let me spend how much I want, and don’t ever call me on my spending habits. If I get cranky, please give me a LOT of room, while I will give you very little. If you walk out on an argument, make sure that you know you will at the very least have to suffer substantially in order for me to allow you even a kiss. However, if I need to go, I will claim it is because I am being healthy and wise, and don’t want to injure anyone.
If you had asked me what I wanted before, it would be a man with all the trappings. That somehow it would fit my profile, and we would gaze into each others’ eyes and walk off into the sunset and you would say, “My, they look good together.” And I would have been repeating every past relationship I had ever had. And I would eventually have picked apart every last detail of you and your stupid cowboy boots that I actually loved in the beginning.
And now…this brings me to the blog. Now I have this blog, which looks like yours sort of. There are running things and teaching things and stuff in my head…and every time my life changes, the blog changes. So I look at your blog and I can’t replicate it. I have to figure out what to write about. What’s good to write about in the virtual community. To not write for my readers, but to be honest, and claim my absolute truth.
And it strikes me. My relationship with the man cannot be explained, even to myself. Every day, I am in a psychic re-arrangement. Like a new pair of running shoes, it starts out uncomfortable, then I am absolutely wanting to feel the fit, to experience the off-centeredness. It’s good. New shoes are good. I feel love, and am loved. I feel as though being in love with this man has nothing to do with this man, but the spiritual connectedness of who I am. Am I Linda E? Linda M? Linda V? teacher, friend of Bill W? mother? ex wife of 2 so and sos?
I know this. Like old running shoes that have been worn down to nubs, the old thinking has to be tossed. Love is in the air. In my soul. When I say “I can’t”, it’s because “I won’t”…Like attacking a marathon plan, I simply must do the training, do the work. Because, at the end of the day, I want the bling…the feeling of accomplishment…the feeling of joy and wonder that I could actually do this thing called Love.
Time will tell…Do I stay stuck, or do I try something new and wonderful?
“Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being “in love” which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.”