The continuing saga of unavailable guys

Someone help. I lie here and there is a deep-seeded longing coupled with a confusion. Wondering what I really want . . . My ex, my bestest friend in the whole world, I, the “love of his life,” wrote to me a month ago, “stop looking and you will find.” I denied my looking. I knew I longed to meet someone, but I also knew I didn’t want to just meet anyone. I wanted to meet someone who really made me tick. I longed for continuity in my life. Someone to share my inner trappings and musings. Someone that was there as I straddled my disparate lives.  Someone that could have my heart, albeit a sometimes missing presence. Someone that I knew I could be utterly devoted to.

Yet, I fail to see anyone that makes me tick. And my seeking thoughts are comprised of only that. Not searching for someone to spend lonely moments with, or that I just thoroughly enjoy, I want someone that could potentially be the one.  However, I am in no rush. No ticking clock. Just a clock that doesn’t know what to do as it passes time.

The time is passing and as I find myself incapable of exploring great men unless they make my heart leap, my relations are short bouts of great men who are emotionally unavailable. With them, I am not concerned about losing feelings for them and being confronted with having to confront them. I don’t press fast-forward on our future to discover a potential ending of me ripping their heart out and breaking it in two. I acknowledge that they will do the heart breaking, however I am much less concerned with them breaking my heart than me breaking someone else’s.  I can venture into waters and risk someone hurting me, yet I can’t venture and risk hurting someone else. (I assure having my heart broken from someone hurts and perhaps more, but I tend to shut off and throw walls up and all sorts of things. I hermit in my misery. It is awful. However, it doesn’t have it’s day until its due. I let it play out, unlike my inability to give a man who truly adores me a chance.)

I may sound like a martyr, but I assure the above dilemma is borne from a selfish place. As I write this, it becomes clear that I have some great pain with confrontation. I recant the moments of feeling trapped and suffocated–unable to confront and thus prolonging my discomfort. Perhaps, I am so scared of confrontation that the discomfort I have endured in the past haunts me.  And so I doubt that I am so concerned about hurting someone, I am concerned about hurting myself, just in a much less obvious way, perhaps. (I can’t tell you if this in fact true or the life behind my obsession with unavailable men, but for this evening, err morning, it is my theory.)

So to the men in pursuit of me: Matt Damon, MiCarino, Navy Seal, Short Beckham, and Rico Suave, I apologize, but you are killing me. Matt Damon, I believe your amazing email about me is the catalyst of my lonely inactive heart starting to audibly ache. A heart that has been alone and a body that has not had regular service for 18 months!

And yes, I hate the way this post reads. But I needed to write this, for these thoughts would turn friends’ ears deaf. I am so sad. So empty. So lonely. The fact I am adored and liked, yet unable to love back when it’s all I want to do makes me feel like an ice-princess. Not cuddly, not loving. Soulmate made me remember that I am . . . yet his presence in all of this now is too much for me to handle.

I am supposed to see him tomorrow. He wanted to come over tonight. Our bodies drawn to each other. I made other plans. Then, he was to come over after. I failed to write back. My thoughts running rampant from my dinner with two recently single women. Feeling as if I couldn’t listen and be there anymore for them. As if I started to resent them for having great relationships even if the guy turned out to be an assclown.  My thought being, if we are all destined to meet someone at a certain time, the time before is better spent in relationships where great memories were created than single indefinitely. Maybe I am having an Attaingingme Pityparty . . . maybe I sound crazy, and I am, I am crazy sad. 

Are you tall, dark and handsome? Can you be my Mr. Unavailable that is Available . . . I am willing to travel 🙂

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Charge: Unprofessional & My plea: Guilty, but not really . .

The day before I went to New York (September 13) my world unraveled. Before, the incident, I wrote this:

“I wish my pen could write as fast as my my mind. So many thoughts. I penned this in my mind as I walked back to my car, blanketed in sand. My long tie-die dress getting caught in between my steps. I felt hippie glamorous should there be such a thing. So blessed that this stroll is a part of my now life- albeit its permanence as secure as a lone leaf’s place on a windy sidewalk.”

Two hours later, the first time in my career where my professionalism had been directly attacked. A letter my boss forwarded me contained the following, “A person with this title is expected to be professional & prompt in their communications. All my dealings with Attainingme to date have been marginal at best. She is a poor communicator for someone assigned this responsibility by the  . . .” WHOA! I failed to read the entirety of the email. I could not. I spent the evening hiding from the friendships I was forming, crying, and formulating an email to my boss. I will not get into the sordid details that prompted this BROKER, yes a measly broker, to write this email about me, but upon receiving the email I took it to heart, felt as if I had dropped the ball. However, as I structured an email, recanting the facts, I regained confidence in my actions. I did however, decide that I would pour myself into work.

I left for NY the next morning. Aware that again, NY and workaholic were synonymous.  I would be leaving the balance provided by this island and entering a whirlwind of to-do’s. I was overwhelmed, but had made the decision to work and do whatever it would take to juggle more than is humanly possible. The week, became one of anxiety, my face hollow, my skin gaunt, my nerves tense. Social time, barely existent. The TV a quiet reprieve, my most-sought source of relaxation. The first time in my life, it provided an ability to shut off for an hour. Typically, my mind too hyperactive to become engrossed in the tube, yet when my juice was beyond depleted, it more than sufficed. (Perhaps also soothing as I have spent the last month and all of my time on the island without a tv, in an empty apartment.)

My decision to become a professional juggler was not feasible. I was drowning in the attempt. On Friday, I sat with wet eyes as appeasing the BROKER was amounting to ten aggregate hours of proforma and presentation work as my phone rang continuously, a reminder as to what was needed to do to actually obtain the purpose of my job. A job that is based on achieving financing, at a time when the world is upside-down, a job that receives an A or an F, the effort, irrelevant. Job security, what’s that . . .

Aware that few can claim job security in these times, however, my job and my life, intertwined. My island, my new relationships, my balance . . . I questioned walking away for the first time. If so, I promised I would change industries completely. My thoughts from this moment in the previous post. 

I was about to jump- Goodbye job, Goodbye life

9-20

What a week. Feelings of depletion that I have not felt in forever. Overwhelmed. Stressed. Images of growing new appendages as I could not imagine another way to conquer this.

Thursday night, PROBIOTIC asked me what happened to my eye—I had no clue. Walking to the mirror, the hollowness in my face astounded me, the dark circle beneath my left eye rendered me a Rascal- look-a-like. PROBIOTIC then explained that dark circles are the physical manifestation of liver or adrenal issues. Translation: too much drinking or too much stress. Ding Ding! The winner, the latter.

Friday afternoon a sense of calm enveloping my like a safety blanket. On the verge of tears before I went to eat. Upon returning, the world easier, my mind subdued as if in a Xanaz coma, aware that there was only so much I could do and I finally surrendered as if the anxiety induced motivation disappeared.

Which brings me to a thought-motivation. Workaholism is great and is somewhat necessary for productivity. But where is the fine line between being motivated, able to endure working countless hours and balance?

Yesterday I found myself in a stranger’s body. In pilates, my body stiff, however lean but without the athleticism and energy it normally possesses.


This week was also one in which my mind danced and tiptoed into the battle zone. Thoughts of needing to transition and reinvent. Thoughts of leaving my job. Haven’t I done this too many times before? Not prepared to enter survival mode. Not ready say goodbye to my life on the Island, yet I searched for back up, my mind was disassociating. I realized with trepidation, that if I crossed that line, that in fact is what will happen. My week’s thoughts spanned from “whatever happens is what is meant to be.” Ie. “Maybe life on the island is not where I am suppose to be” to acknowledging the power of my mind. That my mind is the conductor here if it so chooses to be.

 

SO while I have my ticket in hand for the train that is departing, the destination: A new book, a new path- an artistic life perhaps? I sit and know I can instead enter a new chapter. Adapt my life now for it offers all I want. “

I looked into your eyes and I saw myself

In response to Cremolloquareterpony’s comment about  “My soul called and yours answered.” I would like to dedicate a post. 

Cremelloquarterpony says: ” Soulmates exist! I encountered a soulmate horse years ago and I had the experience you described above… I looked into that horse’s eyes and I just KNEW who/what it was. That experience helped me to understand that if I can find my soulmate horse, well the soulmate guy is going to show up sooner or later as well! We just have to allow the belief that it could happen is all.”

This is an email I wrote describing the day I met Ofeo. And while the email is about the place, beautiful Lake Como, Ofeo was responsible for making this experience reach every part of me and affect the deepest confines of my soul. This photo I will always love-  his eyes and the memories of a day where my soul ran free and why I love horses. 

 

An email I wrote on 7/25/07

Como was amazing. It was absolutely beautiful, relaxing– everything I wanted for my few resting days. I went horseback riding in the hills of Como with some locals and saw things that were extracted from another time. No roads and only one could guess how people even get to these houses. The lawns/flowers were magnificent- reminiscent of a mansion’s landscaping and then in lieu of an estate there would be a tiny dilapidated stone house. Some without windows. Similar to the old stone houses you will find on a hike, yet they were inhabited. The Italians sitting on the porch next to each other. A dog running around barking, a goat, a pig, a strange foreign animal I can’t place . . .

Point is, it was surreal. And then to bond with Italian girls, none of whom spoke English, over the commonality of being able to really ride a horse.  We went to this clearing and took turns galloping in circles. 2 people would go around two times and another two would follow. It was like some beautifully coordinated relay race. 

And then the feeling of galloping on a horse- one of my favorite feelings in the world. Meditative, freeing and still, yet flying. Very cool.

My soul called and yours answered.

Closing off. No anger. No pain. I feel as if I was about to take off on a jet—an adventure awaiting me. No initial awkward dance or introductory period—it seemed to have been covered all within the first hour. That hour putting an end to my resistance, my moral dialogue, my knowledge of the emotional consequences that awaited me only. It was all lost as the sun set Friday night- the sky, a fanciful pink.

In my apartment as I stood pressed against his body, my mind still high from our conversations, my body calmed with pleasure, I looked at his omniscient eyes and felt as if I was exactly where I was supposed to be. As if I just discovered a part of me that was missing. It wasn’t that I pictured a future or felt that I found the one, but I felt as if I found the one “right now.” As if in this moment, our souls fit together like two long lost puzzle pieces. How I didn’t know I much I needed him, but I did.

Now, 4 days later. I feel as I am on the tarmac-watching the jet take off. The whirlwind adventure that could have been, becoming a single memory. Nothing more than a night of wonderful dreams. My desire to see him taking on indifference. I am ok with this. No frustration that normally accompanies liking someone and realizing that it doesn’t have the effortless energy that comes with falling in love or finding the one. Past memories of feeling my heart throbbing for no good reason over someone that could have been, but never was.  Now though, my heart still completely intact.

However, I can recognize that I cannot recall a time when I felt my soul found a match until now. I once met a man I felt I was going to or could marry. But Rediscoveryme makes me realize that my soul just found something it never has. I cannot help but read and think of him. Imagine excursions. My mind noting our conversation. Everything seems to remind me of him. How can one night form such a basis? How can a few hours of conversation touch me in so many ways?