Posts Tagged ‘curiosity’

Try, try again

February 14, 2022

Ok.

So.

I got back on the damn app.

I had a few moments of wondering if I would run across dude’s profile, but so far nada.

Which is nice.

Also, ran across a former client.

Eek.

Swipe Left! Swipe left!

And.

An ex from five’ish years ago.

Also.

Swipe left.

And, when you match with a lady and she reaches out, I’m on Bumble, and sends a messages, don’t reply in all emoji’s.

Unless you don’t want to go on a date.

WTF?

Folks have some strange behaviors.

I’m not going straight up sober only guys, but I am looking more closely at the whole frequency of smoking weed thing.

And.

I do recognize quite clearly that I have to be direct about my needs.

I am not here to diminish my needs.

I am also proud of myself for the things that I did do with the last guy that I dated.

I clearly stated my sexual needs.

I said when I hadn’t an orgasm.

Albeit.

l did not appreciate the response.

“I didn’t know you were keeping score.”

No.

But, you didn’t check in with me either.

I mean.

I know you came.

But just because I’m a little vocal does not mean I did.

Anywho.

It’s not about taking anyone’s inventory but my own, thanks.

So, I spoke up about my sexual desires and what I like, and that was cool. Probably the most direct and transparent I have ever been.

Also, apparently my drive is still quite high.

I mean, I’m 49, but I still have some very clear needs here.

I also spoke up for non-sexual physical intimacy.

Something I have modeled to a person I’m dating, but never really spoke up for.

I’ll give dude credit, he did articulate that he’d noticed, but he was not able to give what I was looking for.

I am a cuddle bug.

I also recognized that I get excited about dating and connecting.

In this excitement, I down played when was good for me to be hanging out.

Monday nights after a long day of client sessions and driving cross town at 8:30p.m. when I have an early client session on Tuesday morning and then I drive back and can’t find parking where I live.

No good.

That happened the second week we were hanging out.

I ended up circling and circling and nearly crying at 1 a.m. trying to find a place to park.

I did not let that happen again.

So.

Yeah.

I learned.

I learned I can’t down play my needs, dim my voice, or do for another when I’m not taking care of myself.

Basic ass shit.

But.

As my therapist has stated this past week, I did not have healthy romantic models in my childhood.

Um.

No.

And I learned, at a very young age, that when I asked for my needs to be met I would be met with violence.

So I tend to down play them or try to figure them out of my own and I never, ever let the other person know I’m disappointed or sad or whatever “negative” emotion I am having.

Those aren’t allowed.

But.

It’s ok to let another person know how I feel, actually really important, I was disappointed a number of times and didn’t say anything.

Somewhere inside me is a little girl who thinks she doesn’t deserve to have her needs met.

I had someone ask me recently what I need and I was able to articulate it quite clearly.

I mean.

I know what I want.

Now, it’s just a matter of continuing to speak up for it and if the person can’t meet the need, that’s ok.

Dating is going to be about curiosity and exploration.

I’m not trying to find the one to complete me.

I’m complete, thanks.

But.

I am looking for a compliment.

Someone who wants to travel with me–you better have a passport, have fucking awesome sex, make out a bunch, drink a lot of coffee, make me laugh, cuddle, be taller than me, wants to be in a committed, monogamous romantic relationship, and eats their steak rare.

Oh.

And don’t be allergic to cats.

I have two.

They like their steak rare as well.

Heh.

You Got Some ‘Splain’in

September 3, 2016

To do.

I have not told you guys something!

I’m off Tinder.

Yup.

It’s official.

I cancelled the app and deleted it off my phone.

Now comes the hard part.

The sit and wait part, the let it happen without looking for it part, the re-integration of lost things and places and experiences, the growing up part.

The.

Oh, dare I say it.

The adulting part.

I did some work at Burning Man and not all of it was fluffing, a lot of it was spiritual work, growth, therapeutic work, allowing myself to look at it like a dusty spa of spirituality and a sort of recovery conference in the desert.

I got my God on.

Heck, I even did a shaman journey.

Yeah, I know, shush.

I have been living in California for 14 years, please, it rubs off.

And I was ready for it.

Especially.

When I ran into my friend who was at the first camp I stayed with ten burns ago.  We hugged and reconnected and talked and I shared my experiences being in graduate school for therapy and psychology and that I want to pursue a doctorate now, I mean, really, it might be time for a new playa name, Dr. Carmen has a nice ring to it you know.

Anyway.

We chatted, he’s a therapist and he also does shaman work and I recalled a time when he had offered to take me on a spirit journey and how I sort of pooh poohed it.

Then.

I found myself wanting to ask when I saw him this past week at the burn.

And.

I found a great big lump of fear on my chest.

Oh.

How interesting.

When I feel that much resistance to something it is rather indicative to me that it’s time to do some work on something.

So.

I asked, and I admitted my fear and then we laughed and he said, of course and then asked me to ponder a question or to sit and be with what it was that I wanted to address.

What popped into my head?

Sober boyfriend.

Yeah, like that.

We met the next day in the heat of the afternoon, in the middle of a white out dust storm.

Things were said, deals were done, navigation of emotions, experiences, lots and lots of therapeutic theory.

He knows his stuff and I recognized a lot of the techniques he used and I wasn’t uncomfortable with the way it went, despite, yes, there being some fear there too, but mostly a curiosity to see what would arrive and an eagerness to address these baffling relationship issues that seem to crop up for me often when I am least expecting or most wanting to have a relationship.

It’s like a wall, glass, that I can feel, that I can see through, but can’t quite figure out how to get to the other side.

We talked and talked and got down to some root things, which when expressed from his perspective was obvious, so obvious, it made me feel a bit baffled then I realized how I am most often unable to see what others see so clearly, I have no perspective on my own life or abilities.

None.

Hearing all the things come out of my friends mouth, with a broader perspective of my history, trauma, and adult male patterning that I did when I was a little girl.

Well.

Fuck.

Of course I tend toward being single.

Hello safety.

I am either chasing after the unavailable boy or I am being the mother to said boy.

I don’t date adult men.

I don’t know how since I hadn’t seen healthy adult relationships growing up as a little girl.

I often tend toward two ways of being in relation to men I want to date.

I have been the mother–my longest lasting relationship was five years and I was definitely the care taker.

And then.

A long series of men, boys, that I chased, who were not often, or ever really interested in dating me romantically.

These paradigms made a lot of sense to me and I think I have been dancing around this knowledge for such a long time that when it was finally revealed it was less a great big aha moment, but more of a softening and relaxing into myself.

I had a lot of compassion for myself and a gentleness that I found so tender that I was in tears just from the relief of that.

So.

My friend made some suggestions.

Stop chasing.

Stop being the mother.

Write it out.

What does an adult man look like, what qualities do I want?

And lastly.

Be patient.

Don’t expect it overnight and stop looking for it.

It won’t be the impetuous passion of a sixteen year old in a romantic crush.

It will probably not be someone I’m crazy wild about at first glance, it will be softer, and I will be pursued and I will be seen and my power, who I am will be my calling card.

He will be strong.

He will not complete me.

I won’t have to mother, and I will not chase.

What a relief.

At first when I deleted Tinder I was pretty ok with it.

Then.

Yes.

I did re-install the app for a half day.

But.

I realized.

Nope.

It doesn’t serve, not after the experience in the dome, in the dust, in the heat, my heart opened, the little girl response to dating laid to rest in the resplendent gold dust light.

My friend said write about it, at least once a day, a paragraph, what my adult man looks like, what I want.

And.

Then.

Heh.

Text him when I start dating.

It won’t be long.

I’m ready.

I am happy, healthy, smart, employed, in graduate school, sober, loving, lovable, funny.

It’s on.

And I’m done with the dating apps and the chase.

I am here and available.

And I don’t need to chase.

I am fucking awesome.

I would date me in a heart beat.

I don’t need fireworks, although passion is lovely, I’m not going to try to make anything happen.

I don’t need to.

It already is.

 

 


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