Why I love my life...
he woke with a stretch - tired old back creaking but not too bad this morning, not too bad at all. the big bed was just right, too. just the way he liked it. warm under the down comforter, yet slightly cool if you moved your foot to a new spot. and best of all, warm and smooth and firm and naked if you moved the other way. she was just waking, too. last night had been fun but WAY too late, and the light from outside was suffusing the room with an evenness that said it was mostly gray outside. he lifted his head and looked out at the bay. the last few mornings had been full of the sound of the wind straining through the big firs around the house, and waves pounding the logs at the shoreline, but this morning was quiet like it hadn’t been for days. the bay confirmed that there was no wind - glassy and still, the tide almost high. what a wonderful place. always changing. he wanted to be out there to smell it and feel it. and of course, as she rustled under the covers and threw her long, firm leg over his and touched his belly with her warm hand, he wanted to be there to smell and feel that, too. she was many, many things in his world: friend, lover, confidant, and serial puzzle. like the bay: constantly changing and capable of a much wider range of expression and feeling than he was. worthy of every ounce of patience required to appreciate and not be offended by the effects of her inner tides. the same that would sometimes leave you picking at oyster shells on a sandbar could also wash over you with tumbling waves of passion and humor and delight.
he stretched again, his sternum popping audibly. in his head were a half-dozen things he wanted to do today, paradoxically including “nothing” which was going to create some inner conflict. nothing that procrastination couldn’t render powerless, though. one more stretch and she stirred and asked “did you dream?” a powerful and vivid dreamer herself, she was much more “into” dreams than he was, though not for any other reason than that he seldom had much material to work with. the rare dream hung around for a few seconds or minutes and allowed the viewer to marvel at the dali-esque logic that only dreaming could support. but most of them slipped away like a strange aquatic apparition - the shape of a fin or a silver flash, or maybe just a feeling - a ripple of current that had the unique flavor or scent of that so-recently-occupied other world. but they always seemed to be things that could only be seen peripherally, or smelled without sniffing. the stranger or more interesting or more REAL they were, the faster they would slip away - the bigger the undefined and rapidly fading sense of their reality. he always felt a sense of loss at that.
her dreams did that, too. probably more often than not. but sometimes. oh my god, sometimes she would relay them to him, lying in bed with tangled hair and morning breath and pauses to re-immerse and remember, and he would realize that she dreamed in ways that were beyond his - or maybe the bridge to that other reality just crumbled more slowly and that was the only difference. whatever. it didn’t matter. but he could understand why sometimes it was obvious that she preferred the world she had just left to the one she was facing once vertical. not in a bad way. just a physical manifestation of the power of the lure of the escape from this particular reality offered by dreaming. maybe that was all it was this morning.
“you know what i want to do today?”
“no.”
“well, i want to...”
“no. i mean, 'no. don’t tell me'.”
“oh. OK.”
and she was gone again. back to someplace so different that she wasn’t ready to let go yet. perfectly understandable. enviable, even. and so he was left to deal with his feelings. why so many feelings all the time? and all the decisions they imply, because they can’t all be “right”. which to embrace? which to discount? which to send packing? well, the obvious ones - sometimes the most difficult, strangely enough:
“that’s not fair.”
“i don’t do that to you.”
“i hurt that you don’t care about what i’m thinking.”
pretty simple, really. but strong and sudden and demanding attention like a 3-year old whining in a supermarket aisle. and like the 3-year old, in most cases they deserve to be ignored. what they want is attention that is completely selfish and of little merit.
logic, your oldest and bestest pal, says you must dismiss these whinings. the combination of cold logic and warm memory reminds you that you know in your heart of hearts that she is almost always scrupulously fair (and even when confronted with the occasional slip, rapidly admits and repairs); that she has never knowingly hurt anyone in your experience, and loves you genuinely, deeply, and with a greater informed acceptance of your faults than anyone in your 50 years experience with the obvious and quite different exception of your mother. so what are you left with?
just like you, she is capable (much more capable than you, in point of fact) of loving her partner deeply and caring very much for the thoughts, feelings, and needs of the other, while simultaneously possessing a deep, abiding, complex and historic relationship with the conflicting selves that attempt to peacefully co-exist within herself and is quite busy with them right now, thank you very much.
so take your walk. make your coffee. have a moment with your own cacophonous brood and see if you can get THEM to all whistle the same tune. allow her to do the same, and see if, when you all arrive at the same place and time again, if there is more room for sharing of ideas and plans.
lo and behold, by the time i get back from my walk, i have another agenda entirely. i love that my warm, sweet, beautiful friend is still in my bed. sleeping. because my needs have moved. sure, i still want to go look at an old boat today. and get my flat VW bus tire fixed. and walk on the beach (well, maybe, but i already did that). and do a mixed workout with some aerobics and weights. and yes, my old friend down there would like to slip and slide someplace warm and wonderful when and if you would. but none of that is as important right now as getting these thoughts down. the most important of which is “i understand.” followed closely by “no, i REALLY understand” - because right now instead of hanging over my shoulder and being close it would really work well for me if you went and took your shower and brushed your teeth and how do i make you understand that that doesn’t mean i love you any less than when i’m trying to fondle and nuzzle you while you’re trying to identify that strange deep-sea-dream creature shimmering on the edge of your peripheral vision and all you can get out of your mouth in the middle of all that, praying you don’t scare the thing further away, is “no.” i understand. at that point “no” is really very generous. it’s such a conscious thing to do, it is really very brave, in fact. consciousness is NOT on your list of “things i want to do right now.”
i love you. thanks for the time to figure it out. thanks for my walk on the beach. thanks for everything that is you.