Wow. In less than twenty-four hours, I received three emailed, powerful comments on the post, Why Not Me.
And they were all from men whom I know. Goodfellas all, and I am grateful.
I accidentally erased one (apologies), but I extracted the salient components from the other two. Herewith:
The first:
"Just read your post. Hey, that's a sad one. You show fortitude and honesty, and all that, but it's still a raw one. Sorry, not for the TP thing, but for the glimmer of mortality and uncertainty it reminded you of."
And the second:
"Why do you torment yourself with TP? He obviously does not consider you a high priority. Stupid man! Methinks that you should cut the cord and start anew. I know, easy to say and hard to do. I found it quite hard when I was single (before marriage), but a divorce sure puts it into perspective. It always happens when there is a different level of interest by each of the parties. If I was not such an old fart, I would try and win you over. You should have the good life thrown at you by the perfect significant other. As long as you can say 'no regrets,' then you are okay."
My responses, I hope, were as straightforward as I could write them.
For the first, I wrote back to say, I (or it) was not so sad. I chose to put myself in the situation, and I not only experienced a strong emotional reaction (one whose root cause is deep in my past), but I also paid attention to it, and invoked a behavior modification exercise I learned years ago - when I was in therapy. That brought me around. I expect that I will have to divulge further and perhaps write about the handful of such exercises so-learned and so often practiced. I know now, and I am happy for it every time, that to experience my feelings, and to be present in them is good for me. I find too, that even when I am made or make myself anxious or angry, it is better for me to be aware of those feelings, and to understand why they rear their nasty little heads. The added benefit is that those kinds of emotions inform and fortify my writing. It may not feel pleasant, but oh my, they do open the floodgates. I'd rather experience the discomfort - it acts, and my artist-friends aver, as inspiration. My muse may have thorns, but better that she is there, hovering over one or the other of my shoulders.
As for the second, I wrote back to say that the torment was short-lived, and (maybe more important), I do not cast a judgment or dispersion on TP. He is whom he presents himself to be. I doubt that he is a bad person, nor would I render such a criticism. I take responsibility for the risk(s) I took, and I think I dealt with my momentary topsy-turviness pretty well. I added that I am curious-as-hell about people and what motivates them, and I am not shy about exploring that, often among the men in my life or in my past. I do wonder why some men seem so very definite about having me in their lives - especially when it's really and finally about their own self-aggrandizement. I am better at recognizing those cues anymore, but I am sometimes astonished when I see it for what it is. Surprise, even unwelcome surprise, reminds me that I am not the smarty-pants for which I am habitually taken.
Smart people know what they don't know, and the best of the smart people I know, know that, they ask questions, and welcome new experiences, new things to learn.
A ditch digger knows more about digging ditches than I do.
Another thing about evolved pointy-heads is that we are open to being disabused about our ideas. I can be persuaded, dissuaded, and convinced otherwise, provided the argument is compelling and well-thought out.
Heck, I could be wrong about that friendship-neediness-as-narcissism-self-puffery thing. But I think I would need to be grabbed by the shirt-collar. I would need some hard evidence and one helluva counter-argument.
And that has an equal likelihood of happening as not.
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