|
There once came a time when I wanted to be in a deep and meaningful
relationship with a member of the female gender (well, as deep and meaningful
as an 11 year old can comprehend). This was not the only time, mind you,
just the first. It didn't work out so well. We "dated", but she never even
said that she "liked" me and wouldn't hold my hand. In this way, I began to
equate one with the other: if a girl likes me, she'll touch me -- if a girl
touches me then she likes me. I tried again, but with only slightly greater
success. This one touched me, but only hesitantly and didn't like to be
touched herself and didn't actually like me either. I lowered my standards a
little, as a result: a girl likes me if she doesn't flinch when I touch her.
I tried again, this time with much more success. This girl appeared to like
me; I had gotten touched back by her in 1/190th of the entire time I spent
dating the last one and went farther than I thought probable, farther than I
knew wise in 1/90th of that same time. It scared me, though, not only
because it was so fast but also because we stopped talking. So I went
passive-aggressive and picked at her until she dumped me.
I realize conciously only now how I was equating the physical with
emotional acceptance and how mistaken I was in that. This, combined with
some of the events of my Burning Man experience, have brought me to a point
at which I no longer hunger for an accomplice in lust, but rather for a best
friend (perhaps with the possibility of romance), someone around whom I can
be perfectly at ease both emotionally and physically. I can only hope that
this frame of mind is lasting.
|
