I sent a picture of the sunset this week. It was a whim, because she'd been on my mind lately. I seduce myself into believing something difficult to qualify. That we're connected or that she knows me really well. Even now that seems utterly believable to me. But more than half of our brief correspondence seems to reflect misunderstanding of sentiment in both directions. That makes me ask myself what makes me say that and I answer, 'It feels off.' Stilted, not flowing. Then I wonder how it can feel off if people can't make each other feel anything and I fall into that rabbit hole.
That day in the slant of afternoon shadows, instead of hearing "I care about how you feel" she responded to, "I think I can control how you feel." I had been about to explain why I am delicate with my wording about specific topics, like my feelings for her. And the conversation turned from going deeper into an area we'd never discussed to being about semantics, which is to say not just going back to the shallow end but not even about either of us. About a philosophy. Deflective. I have met so many women (surely there are men, too) who adhere to the adage that other people cannot make us feel anything. And it harkens back to my early days with C, too. Where I expressed believing the purpose and use (and therefore why I was afraid) of therapy was to make me 'normal.' She said it was to make me more me. Her explanation sounded like Buddha-mind, and I found comfort in that.
And what I learned over the years is that I want to feel. I want others to make me feel things, to build a bridge across any perceived duality. And I want to use what I feel to learn more and more about myself. I can scarcely imagine not wanting that. In fact, I have practiced it and am getting better and better at it. It's helped me with parenting, with co-parenting, with being a boss, and being a partner. Sure, I have gotten stung but isn't that, too, a gift?
I thought when we ended, we would evolve into something new. Butterfly. Moth! Meaning we'd still be this awesome thing, but it would be different. But the transformation has been akin to the change that happens when you turn a lamp off. And then I thought well, it will take more time than I realized, and I was ok with that. But now I am beginning to think this is really it. Some vaguely friendly texts and an email or so per annum. If I'm being honest this is sadder than a final goodbye would have been. Less painful maybe, though. And frankly intolerable until I came to an understanding by weaving together themes from across time. Seeing me as an equal or peer is not an option - I won't speculate on why - and so we're stuck in this kiddie pool, outsized and awkward.
But it's not me. And that's the headline. The pithy disregards about a deep connection, about romantic relationships in general, most recently about feelings, these have been there all along. But I didn't hear them as a summation. And so, I have stopped waiting. That's the point. I waited for her which was my choice and I was happy to do it. Indeed it was an expression of love. But now I will love her with different expressions. Or maybe with no expressions. I guess we'll see.
