{soundtrack.insert: heaven that i’m making.crowded.house}

You never know what might happen next. An ALT title suggested by a friend this morning. Connections. Artists. Lovers. Musicians. Actors. Painters. Dancers. What’s not to fall in love with? If you are aligned with the red thread you will light up when you meet another burning bush. Not enlightened, just activated and ready. Open. Open to the universe. And the potential of a new partner. Potential.

I remember a few years ago, taking a woman I was dating to the church of a “jesus friend” and telling her how I loved the performers. I didn’t particularly like the generic modern-Christian music, with the lyrics projected above the subjects over dreamy backgrounds. I loved that everyone got to sing, and I loved that the woman with the guitar at the front of the sage was experiencing true rapture.

“I love her,” I said. I loved god and her joy at celebrating god however she imagined him. Over tacos, my companion demurred. “Do you fall in love with everyone?”

“What?”

“I saw how you looked at that woman. It made me feel lonely.”

“The singer? The Jesus Celebration singer?”

“Yeah. You said it several times.”

“I fall in love with everyone. That’s a gift not a threat.”

“I’m not enough for you?”

“Um… Wait. This isn’t about us. What are you feeling about us? About our relationship? That might be a more fruitful conversation.”

“You lust after all these women. Right in front of me…”

“Wait, what? That? In the church? I was in love with the guys too. I was in love with the celebration, the spirituality… Until that awful music. The woman with the guitar, at least was something I could enjoy. I hate that watered…”

“I’ve heard your excuses.”

Full stop. Time for a break. The particular woman, lovely as she was, had a history of bad relationships. She introduced me to the Facebook of kink. Do you know about it? No need to share here. She really wanted to show it to me. She had a profile where she had written some stories. I think they are called “notes.”

“Why do you want me to see this site?”

“I wrote some things. It’s fun. Wild even.”

“Right, but what is the idea behind bringing me into that universe? Are you hoping to bring some of the kink lifestyle into our relationship?”

“No.”

“Then what? I am not that interested in porn or kinks. If there’s something specific you want to show me, or tell me, we don’t need to visit an adult website.”

“It’s my creativity.”

Whoa. She was right. Sex was unhinged. A little too unhinged if you know what I mean. Intoxicating. The restraint system tucked under her mattress came out in the first week, as I offered to help change the sheets.

“Um, not my thing,” I said.

She laughed. It was a few weeks of mad sex and time of no time before she got on the “show you my stories” jag. I did finally let her show me. I am not going to describe the very first image from her profile. I was shocked. I probably screengrabbed it at some point before I deleted my “intro” account required to view the site. NO NO NO NO NO.

Sex is great. Sex should not be the driving force in your creative and beautiful life. Sex should be an additive, not an addiction. Like a young boy who discovers the grand feelings his penis can produce in his entire body. For a short period of development, kids will rub, tickle, and spend hours discovering their new joy.

If they (we) stayed in the sexual arousal phase of life, we’d hardly get anything done.

Warning, trigger alert, I’m going to dive deep and risk my own oxygen. Here goes.

Last night, for real, I met an actress. Flawed and flawless. I was in love with all the actors in the play, a play I auditioned for, just like she did. She got the part. I had no business trying to embody an 83-year-old man dying of cancer in an assisted living apartment. The man who got the lead role was spectacular.

As I was leaving the play with my friend and theater critic, I said, “Each of the actors was so good. So beautiful. Unique. David really cast well and played them to their strengths.”

My friend said, “Yes, we got to see each of their character arcs so clearly. Very strong.” He’s writing a review today. I’m wondering if I should go again tonight. I have decided to wait. Give the lure time to settle in my body before engaging any activity towards or away from: her.

It must be obvious by now that *her* is some universal unlock code for my heart and soul. I don’t need a partner. I want one. I am blissful and ascending alone. I love sharing my energy and kisses with someone other than my two cats, Sid and Hunter S. Thompson. Sid, being named after the sister who raised me, jumped off a bridge at 31. I was 21. I wanted to follow after her. Contemplated the leap for two years while living with an alcoholic, sitting on a couch she said she bought for me, and the massive painting of Sidney’s “John the Baptist” hovered over our heads.

My sister would not have been pleased about my trying to test my Al-Anon strength and wisdom. It was a bad idea. She was/is an amazing woman who loved her Virgin Wines monthly delivery more than me. Our banter was otherworldly. She is in New Mexico somewhere, grieving the musician she did marry. They were happy, according to our mutual friends. I did not attend the memorial service in Austin for him, out of respect for her.

I wish her the best.

Let the record show, I am still friends with all of the women I’ve been partnered with since my divorce, except for her. She torched the relationship when I started dating the woman at the top of this chapter. Tried to sabotage our joy. We imploded later without her help, but I had to block and delete all of our connections. I think I could say hello on LinkedIn, but why? There is nothing for me in reconnecting. I am not a source of comfort for her either. I don’t want to be back in any form of relationship with her.

Here’s something to understand.

1. When you start an intimate relationship, give it all you have. Don’t hold back out of fear. If you tamp down the flames too soon, you might kill the momentum and magic.

2. When the partnership becomes unstable, make sure that both partners are taking responsibility for their participation and malfunction. Find a way to pause the fights, take a time out, and rejoin with a repair. You can learn this in many books. Brene Brown’s Braving is my favorite exploration of this idea. Be brave. Don’t do the comforting thing if the hard thing is preventing you from moving forward.

3. If things become unsustainable, let go with grace and courtesy. The less drama the better. I previous partner was furious that I texted her a decision to reorient my affections. She lambasted me for a year. The other woman turned out to be beautifully tragic. I texted her a few days later, on Wednesday, asking if she’d like to meet again for coffee.

“This is going to be good,” she said.

“What part?”

“Hearing your excuses or explanations about picking someone else over me.”

“Okay, we can definitely talk about that.”

“I just wanted to play tennis.”

“Great, let’s start with tennis again. Saturday afternoon, 2-ish? How does that sound?”

“Okay. You’re serious?”

“What’s the risk?”

The part she would not let go of was that I texted her with the bad news. “A coward’s way out.”

Well, I beg to differ. It was a difficult situation. She and I had been on one “date” to play tennis and have pizza.

“I want to kiss you,” I said.

“I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

“Nice.”

She kissed me twenty minutes later, sitting in my car.

Then Jessica Rabbit popped back into my world on Facebook. Oh, hi! Jessica. Oh my. I did my best. I did not win any medals. I sat at the fork in the road. Negotiated a truce. Listened for my heart to lead with kindness and energy. I chose Jessica Rabbit.

The part that my dear friend couldn’t ever get over was this: my texting her the breakup was what kept the drama and argument down. She had a temper, which I would later uncover, but there was no point in calling her and saying, “I’m going the other way.” I couldn’t have a discussion about why. I didn’t know myself.

I didn’t know her. Either of them. I chose plan A, she was plan B. She was never satisfied with my explanations. She had not been selected in the first round of any game. She was strong. She was beautiful. She sported a healthy roundhouse kick, should I ever get out of hand. She was lovely.

I broke her heart. We then dated for three years, or two. I gave her a ring. I loved her with every fiber of my very human being.

What happens next with the actress… Probably nothing. Probably I’ll go to the show next weekend and not tonight. I can’t promise you anything at this moment. I can see my responsibility in all of this. To her, it was the coward’s way out. To me, it was the simplest way to deliver bad news without fighting.

She would’ve asked why. I would’ve had no good answer.

I am learning. I am paused and peaceful in my solo flight. I will not tether prematurely. I need to focus on the ship repairs and establishing a healthy supply of fuel.

Bliss is all around me. Brian Eno provides the soundtrack this morning. An hour-long song called “Thinking Music Part IV.” God bless Brian Eno and ambient. Please listen to “Music for Airports” now.

That is all from here, the top of my morning expression. It is 9:14 am.

Let’s do our best, always.

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