“ Some of us are becoming the men we wanted to marry.
For thirty six months and some very odd days, commitment was a vocation of sorts, my road map and my destination. Maybe because it was the first time I really wanted to be good at it, I invested myself in this fidelity until I was satisfied that it had become me. And it was funny and new – this place in which my finicky heart was finally tamed into dedication and, honestly, pretty happy to be so.
And as with most things, when I decided I wanted it, I wanted it fiercely, fully - to embody faithfulness not just in physical, societal ways but in my marrow. Heart, soul, spirit, habits, language, plans, thoughts. Every aspect of me lined up behind the agreed decision that This One was for life. That it was time for me and all my divided hearts and wants to line up behind the fate You and I had chosen together.
And of course, that probably made the summer harder to bear, didn’t it? Having avoided this kind of declaration of purpose and commitment for 29 years, I didn’t understand what it felt like to not have those intentions culminate into a framed degree in your declared major.
But months have passed – two seasons, almost. And nothing is the same. For a while, I was shocked. Betrayed by this beautiful concept – how the fuck can you be burned by goodness? I scowled out at the world and wished men were tagged or branded, begged the universe to teach me how to determine: Where are the Good among you? How will I ever know the good men?
Again, nothing stays. These weeks, I am less eagerly concerned. Is that sad? It might be. I think someday I have the potential to be Very Concerned again, but for now, it’s not exactly what I need.
I gave myself a lecture a month or so ago – cut our hands and made a blood oath not to waste time on men who don’t know what they want.
And then the past few weeks came and reminded me that I am That Man.
And What If I Don’t Know What I Want? I test out the language like a voice over warm up. Change the inflection, grow nimble. Ask the park and the hipsters drinking beer in cans against their bikes at the corner and the old women caving and dying slowly in the cold outside the retirement home down the street. I kick up these sepia leaves in the gutter and think of that. Think of that!
My Lord, what if I don’t have to know what I want for a while. What if I could be not good at fidelity or faithfulness or availability or choosing one thing or just caring so much. What if I am happy to be free?
I would never say a word against commitment and devotion or relationships that run wild and full. The pictures from my trip still sweep up nice memories.
But I will tell you this, at night my mind questions without apology whether I am just not that creature. Not for now. I am realizing how well this era of self-possession fits and I remember how well it always did. I don’t know what percentage of you are the Good Men. I don’t know that it’s my job to judge you so soon. I know I like talking to you and hanging up when I want to and charting my own weeks that I will not explain or announce. I like getting to know you slowly, like normal humans, without the rush or vacuum that began Us, that doomed Us. I like holding some of it all back.
And maybe this is just one hour, one orbit of the clock in which I get to enjoy the world and not expect so much of it. This release pose is beginning to feel like home and sometimes that worries me a bit. Our easy return to old tendencies. How much I am loving this all of me and a little of you when it fits easily, in measured doses.
For better or worse, Steinem might have been right. 1 month ago
For thirty six months and some very odd days, commitment was a vocation of sorts, my road map and my destination. Maybe because it was the first time I really wanted to be good at it, I invested myself in this fidelity until I was satisfied that it had become me. And it was funny and new – this place in which my finicky heart was finally tamed into dedication and, honestly, pretty happy to be so.
And as with most things, when I decided I wanted it, I wanted it fiercely, fully - to embody faithfulness not just in physical, societal ways but in my marrow. Heart, soul, spirit, habits, language, plans, thoughts. Every aspect of me lined up behind the agreed decision that This One was for life. That it was time for me and all my divided hearts and wants to line up behind the fate You and I had chosen together.
And of course, that probably made the summer harder to bear, didn’t it? Having avoided this kind of declaration of purpose and commitment for 29 years, I didn’t understand what it felt like to not have those intentions culminate into a framed degree in your declared major.
But months have passed – two seasons, almost. And nothing is the same. For a while, I was shocked. Betrayed by this beautiful concept – how the fuck can you be burned by goodness? I scowled out at the world and wished men were tagged or branded, begged the universe to teach me how to determine: Where are the Good among you? How will I ever know the good men?
Again, nothing stays. These weeks, I am less eagerly concerned. Is that sad? It might be. I think someday I have the potential to be Very Concerned again, but for now, it’s not exactly what I need.
I gave myself a lecture a month or so ago – cut our hands and made a blood oath not to waste time on men who don’t know what they want.
And then the past few weeks came and reminded me that I am That Man.
And What If I Don’t Know What I Want? I test out the language like a voice over warm up. Change the inflection, grow nimble. Ask the park and the hipsters drinking beer in cans against their bikes at the corner and the old women caving and dying slowly in the cold outside the retirement home down the street. I kick up these sepia leaves in the gutter and think of that. Think of that!
My Lord, what if I don’t have to know what I want for a while. What if I could be not good at fidelity or faithfulness or availability or choosing one thing or just caring so much. What if I am happy to be free?
I would never say a word against commitment and devotion or relationships that run wild and full. The pictures from my trip still sweep up nice memories.
But I will tell you this, at night my mind questions without apology whether I am just not that creature. Not for now. I am realizing how well this era of self-possession fits and I remember how well it always did. I don’t know what percentage of you are the Good Men. I don’t know that it’s my job to judge you so soon. I know I like talking to you and hanging up when I want to and charting my own weeks that I will not explain or announce. I like getting to know you slowly, like normal humans, without the rush or vacuum that began Us, that doomed Us. I like holding some of it all back.
And maybe this is just one hour, one orbit of the clock in which I get to enjoy the world and not expect so much of it. This release pose is beginning to feel like home and sometimes that worries me a bit. Our easy return to old tendencies. How much I am loving this all of me and a little of you when it fits easily, in measured doses.
For better or worse, Steinem might have been right. 1 month ago
