If you (whoever you are) have read this blog and read all my blood poured out onto the monitor, then you might have caught a glimpse of me and my known issues. I have no problem putting the spotlight on my issues. In fact, one ex painted me out to be “too happy” therefore making me obsessed with adding dimension to myself. Nobody is too happy. Joyous, yes. But I’m human.
I digress.
As I get older, I like to put a microscope on myself, like a butterfly always changing blah blah blah. Yesterday I discovered that, I am like the housewife who says she’s had the same weight since she was twenty. Wrong! I keep saying I have abandonmnet issues and, of course, self diagnosed given my biological stand-in made a break for things and then I was chosen by my father who didn’t share my blood but did better in my own opinion than any man with the same blood could have. But if you don’t share blood, you always wonder if the connection is as strong. So this whole time, in my relationships I’ve been scared that connections without cement in my life can be broken. But here’s the deal. I just realized that’s not true. My dad taught me that if you love someone, they can’t be. Bond is always there. The stand-in proved that too. He’s ghost. Duh! So, what, may you ask is my deal?
Picture this:
New York, circa 1994. I was the literature girl in a circle full of performing poets. The Dorothy Parker/Toni Morrison amongst the Dylans, Joan Baezs and Sonia Sanchezs. Those were good times. Can you imagine the issues and genius word play that went on? Anyways, back to the story. I start dating a young poet - by young I mean three years younger than me and also one that hadn’t really started making money and touring like the rest of our group. He was blunt, sexy, witty, smart and nuturing - at first. This changes as we hang out more alone together. The one fateful night that has so far wounded me happened like this: Me and the Youngin were sitting at our regular Indian resturant (I’ve done a bunch of rememories at that place since then - let me tell you!) and we spot a group of our friends trapsing along in the East Village. I stand up to wave, he puts his head down. Yes, down. As in “maybe they won’t see me if I don’t breathe” type down. And does so just as casually as one would pass the salt or drink a glass of water. It was a crucial blow. That was the first time I’d been a secret.
You see, since then, I’ve been afraid of being the secret. Mind you I don’t have a problem with privacy. That’s different. Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward were private. You knew all you needed to know - they were each other’s. Do I know what their date night was like? Did they ever cheat? I don’t know jack except they loved each other enough to say, “Okay, this is were I am, with this one over here. Everyone else carry on.” That’s my ideal. That’s what I strive for on a regular. But the night I discovered I could be made a secret, made me realize that there is a difference between secret and private. Secret to me means you have some unresolved business that I don’t know about, as your potential/present/ex mate. It says that we aren’t really on the up and up with each other and you’ve got some stuff, heavy stuff, you’re carrying. Private is secure, confident, pure and healthy.
The Youngin did some damage to me from that point on. Amongst the secrecy, there was some meanness and some psychological game playing that took years to unravel (sometimes I find a knot in my brain leftover) - ironic because we didn’t even last that long. And never one to just be a victim - I own the fact that there was room for that disrespect to happen. My niavete and total unsavvyness just put me in a place that one should guard one’s self from. There were several moments I could’ve just broken out but didn’t because I believe people just get better. Well, they do. Just sometimes not being with me. And that’s fine too. Life just keeps on going no matter what so its up to us to figure out what view we’re trying to catch and see if we can see beyond even that one too.
This epiphany was awesome. It let me discover that I am not some kind of crazy “tell the world” type person. It really just says that I don’t want to be nobody’s fool (ha, Paul, that’s for you).