Imagine your best friend in the world--I mean your absolute, diehard, fair and fowl weather bestie-- sets you up on a blind date. Now s/he's your BFF, s/he knows you. What's more s/he knows what you really want in a mate, what's best for you and s/he actually wants you to have it. So you know in your heart of hearts when s/he says, "I have this great person for you: beautiful, funny, smart, spiritual, strong, kind, loyal, hard-working, decent, the perfect height," she really means it. And even though you haven't really been feeling like yourself lately, whoever that may be, you accept the offer. Vast preparations begin. The outfit, the hair, the nails. A flurry of phone calls and texts are exchanged with other friends on the topic of true and lasting connection with someone or thing besides yoga, Emile Zola and Dynasty reruns. Another friend, Esther, cautions you against getting too excited. In past situations that have promised even an inkling of possibility, you've become deracinated and acted like a sex-crazed maniac or a human testimony to suffering and survival and thus immediately excised any and all connection. People have literally run screaming.
The fateful evening arrives and you feel good: pretty, together, tranquil. The apartment's clean. You're wearing new boots. Sexy underpants. Perfume. Cole Porter's crooning softly in the background--You're the Top. You're dreamily wafting about your living room in a state of humorous non-attachment. In other words, you've never been more you in your life. The buzzer bleats. You adjust your hair, exhale a sigh and go to open the door on yourself.
Om namah shivayah. Standing there in your well-lit hallway, looking sparkly-eyed and hopeful, and perhaps wearing a little too much mascara, is you. And you really have to look at you. Drink you in. Connect. You have to go out to dinner and a movie with yourself, with all your crow's feet and baggage and doubts. You have to stop talking, talking, talking and actually listen. To yourself. You have to love yourself and all your scars, moles, experiences and quirks. Would you set yourself up on a blind date with you? What's more, would you call yourself the next day? Could you, would you commit fully to a healthy relationship with yourself, even when the cable's out, there's no good books in the house and you're grouchy? When you imagine your future, are you in it? As you sit there at your computer, drinking your coffee, are you there, fully realized in all your faults and blessings? Can you see, really see, yourself and fall in love all over again. And again. And again.
The next morning, your best friend calls to see how things went. At first you're laconic but then you open up. "S/he was pretty nice," you say. "A little older than I hoped, but there's a lot there. It was challenging but very, very real."
Amen Emily! About a year ago I was browsing the used books at the amazing Housing Works Thrift store on 17th st. and my eyes fell on the spine of "Finding the Boyfriend Within"-- the title was so corny and intriguing I immediately thought-- no matter what this book says it's going on my book shelf. Well, the book is by a wonderful gay NY writer Brad Gooch and it is sublime. You two are getting at the same amazing idea-- if we yearn for someone to "complete" us the qualities we seek in him/her are the qualities we need to cultivate in ourselves. Often we miss ourselves and think someone else will remind us of who we are, or give us the motivation to express it, when really we can be spraying perfume and living a nice life with our own beloved self. Gooch encourages dates with the Boyfriend Within to develop this relationship. It's totally changed the way I live in the city, I can always go on a date with myself rather than get bummed about being single. Om Namah Sivaya! love this post, thanks always