Let It Go

I feel like there are things I cling to that keep me from moving forward.  I cling to them out of comfort and out of fear of the unknown.  I’m afraid that if I let go, I would fly out into nothingness, as if these unhealthy patterns and beliefs are the gravity field anchoring me to a planet that I’ve already outgrown.

And they’re mostly thoughts and beliefs, although they’re some behaviors as well.  One that comes to mind is CG, who I blogged about in the past.  He’s the one who pissed off to Sunnyvale, and who no longer has an account on OKCupid.  I last saw him about a year ago, or maybe a teeny bit less.  I last talked to him last June.  Why on God’s green earth am I still thinking about him?  And why in the name of all that’s holy do I sometimes get a pleasant frisson when I do so? 

I think it must be because I’m stuck on something he represented to me.  I’ve blogged before about how I’ve always had this thing for foreign guys, and how at a certain point, Latin guys came to seem as a perfect mix of American and other.  I wonder sometimes if the reason I don’t think I’ll be attracted to someone from my tribe–whatever the hell my tribe is anyway…certainly not the daughters of Israel or Hadassah–is that it enables me to be unavailable.  (Let's save the what-is-my-tribe discussion for another time.  Some Latin guy may indeed be part of my tribe, but I'm talking about my long-time pattern of dating guys from other cultures.)

And I feel comfortable being unavailable, because if I were available I’d REALLY have to be out there.  I mean, I’m proud of myself for being able to go out salsa dancing and have good clean fun.  It’s exciting and sexy, even though none of that stuff ever happens.  But I do think that deep down, I’m scared as all hell about opening myself up to someone who’s actually available. 

It’s much riskier, for one thing.  But what’s even scarier is the idea that – God forbid – I could turn into my mother.  I know this is really Norman Bates-esque, but I honestly feel a sense of revulsion when I think about it.  I love my mother dearly–see earlier posts–but I can’t be her.  So, she’s something else that I have to let go.  I have to let go of the idea that I can EVER win at my parents’ game, which is basically boy-meets-ethnically-appropriate-girl/boy-and-girl-appropriately-fall-in-love /girl-takes-care-of-boy-and-anticipates-his-every-move-and-mood/boy-takes-care-of-girl-financially/boy’s-wishes-and-dreams-becomes-girls’-wishes-and-dreams/boy-and-girl-make-perfect-family/boy-and-girl-live-happily-and-effortlessly-ever-after-with-the-appropriate-inside-jokes-and-“aren’t we cute”-image.

And then I think, this is ridiculous.  Why can’t I let this all go?  I’m 48, for fuck’s sake, and why can’t I move past the notion that to be in a committed relationship means self-abnegation?  I mean, there are zillions of so-called happy couples all over the place, right?  I suppose my parents’ pattern was impressed into me at a very young age.  My brother messed up his first marriage, and in his second he and his spouse have all of the annoying and smug inside joke stuff that my parents’ had.  It’s incredibly annoying to me.  Why can’t I get away from my mother’s voice in my head?   (Not I know that sounds REALLY weird, but I do think I’m an aural learner and I’m very sensitive to voices.) 

So, I cling to unhealthy patterns, afraid to let go out of fear of abandonment, but also out of fear of smothering/drowning myself.  It’s a Catch-22, so given these fears, perhaps it’s rational to date emotionally unavailable men.  RFG said as much to me during our trip to Miami, when he told me that he doesn’t fall in love.  And I said, I don’t know what love is, or what love’s go to do with it.  But then, I feel like I want connection, I want a partner.  I feel like I’m missing something, which is what I’ve always felt.  By that, I don’t mean that I’m missing the object of my affections, but rather that I’m missing the ability or the inclination to let myself love without holding back.  Well, I love my kids, of course, but I’m thinking here of love for a partner.  I can care about people–I care about RFG–but what does love mean?  People say if you have to ask, you’re not in love, but I think that’s circular logic bullshit.  I want to love, and, of course, be loved, whatever it may mean. And love may be an act, rather than a state of mind.

I wish I could get out of this effing story in my head that I outlined above, the one that my parents supposedly lived.  I wish I could just let go of the hold they had on me, or at least of the pattern that was imprinted on me.  Because at this point, it’s really me that’s clinging on to these dysfunctional ideas and feelings with painfully stiff and frozen curled fingers, since my parents are no longer here. Well, my mom is here, but she’s alone now.

I need to release my fingers and fall and tumble and somersault and twist and swan and glide on out among the stars.