a rare post on dating, developing importance, and fear

I've been staring at a blinking cursor for a few minutes now. Not sure if I want to write this post. If I do write it, not sure if I'll publish it. If I decide I want to write it, not sure how I will find the words.

Let's talk about something else first. (I promise, this story is going somewhere).

For the past year or so I've been really fascinated with people who love their careers. Or more specifically, people who are able to pursue a career doing something they love. When I get to witness someone performing a career they truly love, I watch in awe. I try to figure out what they're doing right so that I can replicate it. I've watched all kinds of persons, for this little informal project.

A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to attend an interview that was being conducted at PCU. A well-known (in certain niches) artist was here and a local media personality interviewed her. They had a relatively intimate setting - two large, comfy chairs on a stage - while the lecture hall to watch was packed with mostly uncomfortable portable chairs most colleges own (you all know the ones I'm talking about).

The artist had not always been an artist. In fact, for over half her life she was something completely different instead. But she had a passion that she pursued while she was trying to figure the rest of life out. One day that passion completely took over her life, in a moment that seems very small and hugely serendipitous all at once. From that day forward her life was completely different. The way she described it sounded very much like her true life began in that one moment.

In turn, hearing the artist say that was an incredibly momentous experience for me. Because it reflected something I had said only two weeks earlier in an very emotionally charged therapy session: That I might be in my mid-30s, but my true life is only beginning. Right now.

In a lot of ways my life before now doesn't feel like it belonged to me. It belonged to my family of origin and the dysfunctional patterns they imposed upon me (although it was imposed with a hefty dose of love and good intentions). It belonged to my anxiety and depression. It belonged to my education, and to psychology. It belonged to the first partner I chose and whom I folded my life into - my personality and true interests disappearing into a tiny suitcase I hid in the very dark recess at the back of an emotional closet. Then my life belonged to recovery and then my work toward tenure.

That is, my life has always had a focus beyond simply living it. It has had goals, accomplishments that needed to be achieved, people to please, and catastrophes to avoid. From what I've heard there are people who don't live their life this way (!). Instead, they are focused on living a full life. A life of happiness, not achievements (not that those things have to be mutually exclusive).

And living life that way - particularly the phase of my life I now term "recovery" - required me to become very self-sufficient. A little bit hard. Maybe with a little bit of a shell. But I didn't really see that until tonight. You see, I don't think of myself as being very self-sufficient or particularly strong. 

A few months ago I realized that even though I was no longer depressed and depersonalized, I wasn't fully engaging in my life to the extent that I wished to. (Even though I believed I was. Brains can be quite tricky like that). So I made a list - what are my values? What things are very important to me - what can't I live without? What would a life worth living, to me, look like? (For one of my favorite little web articles on a life worth living check this out).

Part of what I decided makes a life worth living is love. I have lots of love in my life from friends and family. But it has been a long time since my life included romantic love. And never, to my sadness, has my life included truly healthy romantic love. This, I decided, was quite important to me. But I had barriers to being able to engage in this, so I worked on them (and this is still a work in progress). And then I decided I was ready - I needed to open my life to allowing romantic love to walk through the (appropriate) door. And I did that in a variety of ways.

I thought I'd maybe practice dating. Dating was a skill I didn't really have down. How does one learn new skills? By trying them out. And I met someone really lovely. A man who I enjoy talking to - and listening to. He's a good person. He makes me laugh. He finds me lovely too - and I know this because he is open and can communicate and tells me. We like doing similar things but we come from different worlds so get to learn about new things. Yet, we also come from incredibly similar worlds and I appreciate that special feeling that comes from being able to say and hear "I understand what that feels like."

I'm kind of nervous. I've been kind of nervous since the beginning. I've had to work on letting myself just feel nervous and scared and, ironically (as emotions tend to work) that allows me to also enjoy the excitement and joy of this situation. But I haven't been sure about it. I've lamented (a bit) that I didn't really get the "practice" I was looking for - this is for reals and not low stakes, because I genuinely really like this person.

I haven't jumped in without thinking, like I would have in my past. And remember, I've never had healthy romantic love. So I don't know what that is supposed to feel like. I've been confused and cautious. Needing to remind myself that life is uncontrollable and unpredictable and one needs to roll with it, flexibly and with vulnerability. I'm not sure what I'm capable of, emotionally or literally.

But today something changed. I don't know how. I'm not quite sure what happened. Maybe words were said that felt extra full of impact. Maybe something I really needed was conveyed. Maybe it was a moment of making eye contact with someone and seeing things completely differently. It was a moment where I realized I wanted to remove someone's stress. An instant where I cared about how I impacted someone else. And I realized, in that moment: I could grow to love this person. This person could become not only important to me, but essential to me.

In the exact same moment I moved from nervous and scared to absolutely fucking terrified. At the exact moment I had this realization I'm pretty sure I physically startled, as if someone had slammed a door behind me. In that moment I realized how rigidly self-sufficient I have become, clearly never expecting to have a partner who might support me. Stunned that one could be sitting in front of me. Excited that I don't know - he also might not be.

But I also felt overwhelmed with gratitude.

These feelings I'm feeling? I opened myself up to that.

Those demons that used to get in the way of healthy romantic love? I'm the one who has been working on slaying them.

This person, who is currently sitting across from me at a cafe table as I write this? I am the one who contacted him.

That life worth living? The one that is focused on my values, what I want from my life? I'm the one who made the decision to live it this way.

When I sat in the audience of that crowded lecture hall, watching an artist I admired curl herself into an oversized leather chair and tell us about the moment her life began, I was in awe. I was moved and I was slightly haunted by how much her description resonated with me. I'm thirty-X years old. And my life is just now beginning - because I'm just now taking control.

And this wonderful person, seated across from me listening to his own music, typing on his own laptop.... I don't know what is going to happen between us. But I do know he's sitting here with me because in the most recent iteration of my life I decided to put myself in the driver's seat. This didn't just happen to me, I opened myself up and made it happen. And that's something to be remarkably proud of. To end with the wisdom of e.e. cummings: It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are. And I think that is an ultimate case of better late than never being perfectly okay.