Oh boy…
I recently had a bit more insight into myself and what I found was quite exciting. Well, to be honest, it was more terrifying than exciting but oh! the stories I tell myself!
I found that I am often slow to process my thoughts and emotions, especially when I am feeling tenderly for someone. The sharp wit, the quick come backs, and the articulate expressions often leave me. I probably will need to unpack why this happens but I now understand how people can get overwhelmed by feelings and emotions.
While I was thinking about how slow I go, it occurred to me that maybe all my senses are so tuned in to that one moment, that my brain cannot do the quick thing it does and I am at a disadvantage.
So you can guess by now, that I was in a position of disadvantage recently. I was trying to have an honest conversation with a very important “Him” … and I was incredibly frustrated by my inability to access myself and be true in the moment. I was apprehensive. I felt under pressure to appear cool. Maybe my ego didn’t help because I was already so enamored by “Him” and quite unable to process as quickly, that I was being really slow.
It wasn’t until days later that I began having the conversation, with myself obviously, that I should have had with “Him.”
It took me a week nearly to figure out my thoughts. I couldn’t go back to have a conversation because well, it was a week later. I wasn’t too keen to be as open just yet, because, well… ego… Still, my inner romantic teenager was screaming at me to ventilate my issues. I have written about ventilation before and how satisfying it is to just put things out there. Of course, the post has a different context but the theme is the same: confront the fear, deal with the issue. Anyway, I decided to write a letter.
So there’s a bit at stake here, right? There is the exposure and vulnerability of being so open. And there’s the risk of discovery— right now, I have the privilege of being undiscovered and unread. It’s so much easier to write when no one’s watching. Even better when I can disguise my most innermost thoughts and feelings as an exploration of myself as Writer (yes, with a capital W).
So anyway, I wrote this long letter. I haven’t the courage to share with “Him” so I decided to confessional it. It’s actually pretty poetic because I want to copy and paste it into the post just as the bells of a nearby Church are pealing… I will take that as a sign to proceed.
I think one of the fringe benefits of being a cowardly romance writer should be the ability to use my own inadequacies as material, not so? But I think I will create a whole new post with the letter. This one is a bit too long anyway.
You know, as I was drafting the letter, I did feel an abnormal amount of satisfaction— not only in having articulated myself as I wish I could in what I think was a defining moment of romance, but also in being honest with myself.
In my twisted romantic mind, I sometime think that one day, I will have magically earned the level of honesty with myself that will allow me to truly connect to another human being and perhaps enjoy love. Every time I am able to courageously express my innermost desires, I feel as though I am closer to finding my Big Love.
Of course, maybe I am completely off. But some romantic teenager inside me whispers, “What if you’re not wrong?”
Coming up next: Part 2 of this post.
