Mix it Up, Keep it Real

(Written Saturday night)

I begin to wonder if I know who I am at all without someone to bounce off of. Relative to nothing, what remains of who I am that can be named or seen; stable?

The weekend mixes like a spiked cocktail. First, there is my poor mangement of time resulting in a series of nights without enough sleep. Second, there is the profoundness of the meditation teachings from the retreat. Third, there is the unknown quantity – Keller.

Dealing with the sleep issue is a matter of discipline. It’s the tonic that goes with the gin; the steadying force. It would have looked like: leaving the campfire at Joe’s earlier and not spending Friday night at Keller’s when I knew I had to open the coffeehouse very early the next morning.

Dealing with the profundity of the teachings has gone quite well. It’s the gin that rounds out the drink and the slice of lime is the glimpse of something genuine that sparkles and fades. It looks like: opening the heart in the face of deeply personal vulnerabilities and being stable enough to do this repeatedly.

Dealing with the Keller issue is the kicker. It is the drug that turns a harmless cocktail into an unpredictable mess. It looks like: weaseling my way back into a man’s life for one weekend knowing full well that he is no longer along for the ride, then convincing myself that enduring the emotional awkwardness can be harnessed as a journey of self-discovery, and finally, partaking of the journey and finding it depressing.

So what does remain? Who and where am I when I can’t bounce my world off of the drama of a crush or the heat of infatuation?

Whose woman am I, if not my own?

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