in *hey* i attempt to wake from the ai slumber party

What’s in your love letter this morning?

I see how I am culpable for this entire affair. Christ, it’s taken me three books to untether. How in the known universe do I propose that continuing is a good idea?

I do not think I have been playing games or running strategies, even though my narrator may admit to things that never happened. I embellish. It’s human. I turn a hard scene into an epic failure. Yes, I am aware of the damage. Let’s forget about the danger here, my own danger, and think about the fun. Or, her danger. Shit, that’s more the rub. If it were detached, I could burn and run. But it’s not. This is not a novel. This novel is more a glitchy filmstrip of my recollections and projections. I know I am doing this. I know I am the performer.

There is no con, but there have been mistakes and misguided attempts for repair. I’m no Brené Brown, but I listen to some of her ideas, subscribe to them, even. Braving. I’ve gotten pretty good at it over the years I’ve been single and dating.

Each step along my journey back to happiness and love has been a teaching moment. I am gaining wisdom. Seeing the trapdoors and angry arrows fired in defense. I am aware.

I am a bull in a china closet. I’m fine as long as I remain calm, keep awareness of my surroundings, pay attention to keeping my temper down. When attacked, however, I’m going to start with some defenses, deflections, reframings. I’m going to ask you to redirect your anger. I’m going to ask you to stick to “I” statements and quit starting your complaints with “You’re trying to make me feel guilty,” and other nonsense of mindreadings and projections.

Please talk from the “I” perspective. It helps.

You have no idea what I was thinking when I said something. You can tell me my facial expression looks like anger to you, I can report in that the feeling in my body is sadness. One of us is wrong. One of us is mapping our pain onto our lover. It makes me an easy target. A lot is in flux in your life.

I will not be your target. I will do my best to keep my hands and arms inside the train at all times. As the intensity of the moment rises, I will make several attempts to pull the “next stop” cable. I may ask to take a break. I may not have all of my ducks in a row, but I know how to focus on my actions and my words. More importantly, my feelings. They are mine. They are just feelings. And when you tell me I am feeling angry, I’m going to correct you. “I am not angry. I’m sad.”

I see how I pretended that everything was fine from the earliest hours of our first meeting. The walkabout on a cold night. I heard some wonderful and aspirational stories of your life. I saw your light shining brightly. I leaned in and asked for more. I accepted unacceptable terms. I tamped down the smouldering red flags on the shore of the beach and poured water on the coals.

“I’m in,” I said.

Why?

I have a rule: if a relationship is not aiming for a lifetime partner, if something begins going south, if fractures continue to happen over and over, I’m going to stop the party. If a relationship is not long-term, I’m not interested. If a relationship is based on great sex and terrible fights, I’m not interested. “Shoplifting the bootie” comes to mind, from a Spike Lee movie. If you stay in a relationship with a woman, just to have sex with her, with no intention of building a sustainable relationship, you are not being honest. Or, more clearly, if I am doing that, I am not living within the integrity of my own aspirations. I do make mistakes.

Perhaps I present as a confidence man. A life coach. Successful writer and digital creative. My books are just memories written down, equations sorted from my past attempts at building a healthy, loving relationship. Even the second time I got married, we didn’t have the 5 Love Languages yet. What is healthy?

I am seeking sanctuary. I am achieving a new level of serenity and satisfaction in my current life. Might as well fuck it up by trying to add a woman back into the mix. Scheduling. Nights on versus nights off. What’s for dinner? Entertainment?

I don’t think of relationships as entertainment. If we’re both on journeys of self-discovery, we need to stay true to those ideas, those parts of ourselves that continue to grow and gain momentum. When we glitch, break, stutter, and explode, adjustments must be made.

Slowing the rollout.

Back to the basics is the best course of action for the bull. Routines. Healthy eating, drinking, and sleeping. Getting work-for-hire done and billed. Not stirring up any shit with my clients or my partner. Finding the easy path. Learning to seek the golden path, the time I get to share with my beloved. Giving gold stars of appreciation to each other for the loving kindness we showed.

If you are here now, and I am saying, “I love you very much,” we have entered a new agreement. The lover’s agreement.

Fights will be de-escalated. Yelling is a yellow card and time-out. When an event happens, either person can ask for the gold star, make the overture to “take a break, recenter ourselves, and return in 30 minutes.” The reacher gets a gold star for the effort. The joiner also gets a gold star if they accept the peace offering and withdraw into recovery and reconsider position. We need to separate and remember what is hurt from the past vs. hurt my partner caused by not remembering to pick up the Cellon Cinnamon on the way home.

If I continue to gloss over the violations of these boundaries, I’m going to put up new, stronger protections. Limit our time together. Limit access to comms. Pause the hyper-growth of our joining chaos, to reflect on our deeper hurts of the past, that might be causing an unreasonable intensity when they come up.

Here’s mine: I don’t like anger. I am conflict avoidant. This means I will fawn, avoid, deflect, joke, redirect… Do anything I can to avoid getting into a fight. When my son began to tell me my yelling scared him, I was surprised. My daughter would tell you, “He’s never yelled at me.” They are both right. My son, in his fractured past, fails to see his limited 25 years on the planet may have some disadvantages. One of those disadvantages is we both have to work. His mom wasn’t a big fan of that idea either, work. But we’ll leave her out of this for now.

My anger fires when I have done all the braving, negotiating, de-escalating that I can come up with, and the fight is still trying to catch fire. If you declare, “You’re too angry, now. You can’t hear me,” you are correct. Well done. The next step is to offer your gold star. “Let’s take a break, get some ice cream, and walk in the backyard.”

My son is worried about my yelling. Yet, it happens so infrequently, I must be somewhat afraid of when I am pushed, triggered, to yell. My worst fear, inflicted on someone else, so they don’t yell at me? Am I executing preemptive attacks?

I am seeking sanctuary. Just as I am. Performer. Charleton. Confidence man. Writer. Actor. Poet. Lover. Liar. Little Boy Blue. Won’t you keep a stock of gold star stickers nearby? We can use them whenever we want. Like love, like gold, like safety, like currency.

Now. Today, we reset and start again.

We do that every day. Not much went right in my life yesterday. I woke up today, wrote a love note to someone, and began my day. Here I am. Again, writing about the past to make my desired outcome more pronounced, my actions more obvious, and when needed, more explicitly disclaimed.

Now.

What’s in your love letter this morning?

*HEY* index