The pattern here has been fairly unmistakable, and once recognized, completely laughable. I write when I’m blue, I’m blue when I’m lonely, and I’m lonely when I’m not seeing anyone. Any hint of romance kills my creative spark (or certainly redirects it).
This won’t be the first time I’ve touched on the subject, and it won’t be the last time the absence of a woman’s companionship inspired a little perspective and introspection.
About a month ago, my thoughts returned to this blog, and I began formulating a new article. It would begin by acknowledging the mostly one-dimentional nature of what I’d posted here in the past — chronicling my pursuit of love and sexual fulfillment. Then, after an honest and brief examination of the past two years’ successes and failures, I’d arrive at the conclusion that I’m no different from anyone else. Yes, perhaps I was never great at picking up women, and yes, perhaps whatever skill I’d earned had rusted away after getting married. But now it was well past time to cancel the remedial classes.
At the time, I’d been involved with a new woman for about a month, and everything was wonderful. It wasn’t perfect, and circumstances were complicated, but the point was that occasionally I do find romance when I devote the necessary time and energy to it. The problem is that it’s by far not the only corner of my life in need of attention.
My small-r-relationship still isn’t perfect, and circumstances are still complicated. It’s begun to feel like we’re both keeping one eye on the exits, and I don’t know how much longer we’ll last. In short, enough melancholy to give rise to the paragraphs here.
I despise platitudes, and there’s one that gets slung around a lot — something about needing to love yourself before you can expect anyone else to. Well, I only seem to truly love myself once someone else is.
One conclusion seems unavoidable. If I spent half the time, money, and energy that I spend prowling on my career, on eating better, on getting a pinch of exercise, on putting stalled plans into motion — I wouldn’t need the prowl at all.