There are so many excuses for my behavior.
This was my first relationship.
I was highly insecure.
I was terribly jealous.
I was deeply in love.
I was 21 years old.
So, then, why? Why every time we see each other, do I get this dizzy stomach and nauseous headache? It's fleeting for the most part. But, it comes every time I see you. I look at you now, and the way we are as friends and feel so blessed. I see how much we have grown as people, as men, as lovers. 8 years and counting. But, I can't seem to shake this one instance. This disgusting display of immaturity and drama.
I wasn't a perfect boyfriend. I still doubt I ever could be. I was jealous and insecure and full of fear. I never felt you would love me for me. I don't think either of us realized it was okay to be ourselves with each other. So instead we tried so hard to be what we thought the other wanted.
And, boy did we love each other. WE LOVED. AND LOVED. AND LOVED.
I am not saying I live with regret from that moment in time. That moment in 1999 where I disappeared from the music store (in hopes that you would chase me down...argh...games!) and walked my sorry ass back to Jersey City where I proceeded to sit on the stoop of our brownstone wiping violently at my tears and peering down Mercer Street with tainted anticipation just waiting and waiting and waiting for you and her to come down the street. And...you didn't. Hours and hours went by. Not a phone call. Nothing.
I didn't get what I wanted. Even after a tireless, immature, ridiculous effort to manipulate it out of you. I didn't get what I wanted. But, I also couldn't see that what I had was enough. I wasn't taking what I was given I was only managing to see what I wasn't.
I don't regret my behavior. I had to go through that to learn about myself. It's an unfortunate circumstance that brings the chuck up to the back of my throat every time I think about it, but I had to go through that.
But, you asked me if I had any regrets, or rather, anything I would go back and change. That would be it. Even if I had left the music store out of jealousy and an immature display of loyalty. I never would have confronted you in front of her. I would have, hopefully, walked my sorry ass back to Mercer street and had sometime to think about not feeling sorry for myself. Then maybe when you both arrived back at the house, I would have stood up on the stoop and said I was sorry. Sorry for my childish behavior. Sorry I was pouting and needy for your attentions. Please forgive me. Please understand I am (was) so young and in the great unknown of relationships.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Friday, May 18, 2007
Enormity
"The Enormity of it devours me." One of my favorite theatrical characters says this in regards to the sweeping overwhelmingness of life and the big picture.
For some reason lately, I have been thinking a lot about the war. Or, rather, Wars in general. And, although, I am opposed to war as a method of problem solving or a means to an end of "something" we aren't quite sure of, I keep thinking I don't know enough about the war.
I don't mean the daily news updates or political factoids that can later be tossed out to grease the conversations with others. I mean I don't have a personal feeling or thought attached to war. This has saddened me lately. My personal wars in my private and professional life take precedence over the wars our country are fighting. My personal battle with self-love and sexual expression overshadow the many men and woman who are considerably younger than me who are risking their lives for the honor and justice of our land. The enormity of this thought devours me and brings me to this page.
I guess my point is, I considered myself to be a passionate person. I have always felt I was a man with a mission, a statement, and an emotional attachment to life outside myself. But, since I don't know what it feels like to have a brother, an uncle, a cousin, or a son or daughter at war, I leave my emotions behind when it comes to this topic. So, I am left with my own wars. My own battles that pale in comparison to the larger ones that life deals to the masses. But, doesn't passion (true passion) come from being able to be compassionate? All this time, that is what I might have been lacking in my life. More compassion. How does one cultivate that? I don't want to have to have a sibling or close relative shipped out to war for me to feel what it might feel like to send someone off to duty. And, is it wrong that I am a little bit envious of those who do have a relative overseas? Not envious that their relative is over there, but envious of the amount of strength and emotion they hold deep within themselves on a daily basis, knowing the risks and the heroism that is thrown at their relative.
Meanwhile, I will release the enter button on my computer, shut down my system and retreat to the sofa to complete my obsession with Grey's Anatomy with the Season 3 finale. All the while, desperately trying to put my little wars aside and try to think about the bigger picture. Maybe just trying to think about the big picture is one baby step closer to seeing things from the big picture.
When I get this way. Which is not that often. I do have to agree with my favorite theatrical character. I sometimes feel the enormity of this world could swallow me whole without a sound.
For some reason lately, I have been thinking a lot about the war. Or, rather, Wars in general. And, although, I am opposed to war as a method of problem solving or a means to an end of "something" we aren't quite sure of, I keep thinking I don't know enough about the war.
I don't mean the daily news updates or political factoids that can later be tossed out to grease the conversations with others. I mean I don't have a personal feeling or thought attached to war. This has saddened me lately. My personal wars in my private and professional life take precedence over the wars our country are fighting. My personal battle with self-love and sexual expression overshadow the many men and woman who are considerably younger than me who are risking their lives for the honor and justice of our land. The enormity of this thought devours me and brings me to this page.
I guess my point is, I considered myself to be a passionate person. I have always felt I was a man with a mission, a statement, and an emotional attachment to life outside myself. But, since I don't know what it feels like to have a brother, an uncle, a cousin, or a son or daughter at war, I leave my emotions behind when it comes to this topic. So, I am left with my own wars. My own battles that pale in comparison to the larger ones that life deals to the masses. But, doesn't passion (true passion) come from being able to be compassionate? All this time, that is what I might have been lacking in my life. More compassion. How does one cultivate that? I don't want to have to have a sibling or close relative shipped out to war for me to feel what it might feel like to send someone off to duty. And, is it wrong that I am a little bit envious of those who do have a relative overseas? Not envious that their relative is over there, but envious of the amount of strength and emotion they hold deep within themselves on a daily basis, knowing the risks and the heroism that is thrown at their relative.
Meanwhile, I will release the enter button on my computer, shut down my system and retreat to the sofa to complete my obsession with Grey's Anatomy with the Season 3 finale. All the while, desperately trying to put my little wars aside and try to think about the bigger picture. Maybe just trying to think about the big picture is one baby step closer to seeing things from the big picture.
When I get this way. Which is not that often. I do have to agree with my favorite theatrical character. I sometimes feel the enormity of this world could swallow me whole without a sound.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Unicorns and Libras
The balloon he twisted and shaped into and Odie-look-a-like was charming and playful. He handed it to me with my name on the collar. How youthful. He encouraged my own balloon making and creativity and stood behind me with his arms and hands serving as instructors.
The photos of his nieces and nephews plastered all over his mantle and bed stand show is devotion and loyalty. He speaks of his brother and his sister almost every time we talk.
His apartment is wall-papered with books. As well as his nightstand and desk. Moby Dick is his current literary endeavor. This after completing the Harry Potter Series for the second time in anticipation of the 7th installment.
His glasses are EMO with out being pretentious. His jeans are frayed from use not from dollars. His T-Shirt falls on him so comfortably, as if his chest hair is the grass underneath a picnic blanket.
His conversation is always full-bodied, intense with out being overwhelming, intellectual with out being arrogant, academic with out being droning, and passionate without being aggressive.
His friendships are strong, committed and full of effortless efforts.
His talents are art and photography as well as working with children.
He takes yoga because he likes what the teacher says in class not because he wants a six pack or gain access to his toes. He reads up on Buddhism, homeopathic medicines, spirituality and doesn't commit to any one fully.
He orders pasta with no reservation.
He has braved the city for over 10 years. He has stared familiar death in the face more than once. He has had his heartbroken and performed the breaking himself.
He enjoys the cocktails but doesn't smoke. He has no addictions or fearful habits that are not under control.
He listens to The Weepies and The Gossip.
He writes in a journal. He attends the theatre. He travels.
He does things like...lifting his and my shirts up to expose our chests while lying in bed for the first time and presses our torsos together. Skin to Skin. Holding me tight and nibbling my ear he says things like..."this feels so nice. Doesn't it?"
It does.
But, this is all I see of him. Now. At least. He is a Unicorn.
I am a Libra. There is a balancing act. And, this unicorn impression I am getting is exactly why one day before my date with the Unicorn, I will meet up with the Jew who lives in Brooklyn but wishes for the LES, only wears skinny Diesel jeans, carries a huge purse, has no ambitions, holds on to his heritage because he likes Shabbat dinners, smokes, sleeps in, has nothing hanging on his walls, won't accompany me to the theatre, and leaves everyone thinking he is a huge Bitch and we will get drunk and have sex.
This will be less than 24 hours before I nervously and excitedly meet up with the unicorn and ultimately not put out.
And, I will never understand this about myself.
The photos of his nieces and nephews plastered all over his mantle and bed stand show is devotion and loyalty. He speaks of his brother and his sister almost every time we talk.
His apartment is wall-papered with books. As well as his nightstand and desk. Moby Dick is his current literary endeavor. This after completing the Harry Potter Series for the second time in anticipation of the 7th installment.
His glasses are EMO with out being pretentious. His jeans are frayed from use not from dollars. His T-Shirt falls on him so comfortably, as if his chest hair is the grass underneath a picnic blanket.
His conversation is always full-bodied, intense with out being overwhelming, intellectual with out being arrogant, academic with out being droning, and passionate without being aggressive.
His friendships are strong, committed and full of effortless efforts.
His talents are art and photography as well as working with children.
He takes yoga because he likes what the teacher says in class not because he wants a six pack or gain access to his toes. He reads up on Buddhism, homeopathic medicines, spirituality and doesn't commit to any one fully.
He orders pasta with no reservation.
He has braved the city for over 10 years. He has stared familiar death in the face more than once. He has had his heartbroken and performed the breaking himself.
He enjoys the cocktails but doesn't smoke. He has no addictions or fearful habits that are not under control.
He listens to The Weepies and The Gossip.
He writes in a journal. He attends the theatre. He travels.
He does things like...lifting his and my shirts up to expose our chests while lying in bed for the first time and presses our torsos together. Skin to Skin. Holding me tight and nibbling my ear he says things like..."this feels so nice. Doesn't it?"
It does.
But, this is all I see of him. Now. At least. He is a Unicorn.
I am a Libra. There is a balancing act. And, this unicorn impression I am getting is exactly why one day before my date with the Unicorn, I will meet up with the Jew who lives in Brooklyn but wishes for the LES, only wears skinny Diesel jeans, carries a huge purse, has no ambitions, holds on to his heritage because he likes Shabbat dinners, smokes, sleeps in, has nothing hanging on his walls, won't accompany me to the theatre, and leaves everyone thinking he is a huge Bitch and we will get drunk and have sex.
This will be less than 24 hours before I nervously and excitedly meet up with the unicorn and ultimately not put out.
And, I will never understand this about myself.
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