It’s early. I’m chugging cold water and the not-so-kittenish kittens are asleep at my knees.
I’d like to make myself breakfast but I’m unsure if my morning doctor’s appointment will require fasting, so I’m refraining. That means no coffee either.
Life is complicated right now. A man recently told me he loves me, for the first time in quite a while, and my instinct is to run away, or at least compartmentalize my feelings into neat little boxes I can shove into the back of a closet.
It’s definitely more of the latter. I feel a bit laissez-faire about it all when I should be generally more excitable. Something, you know?
It’s not that I don’t care; I care a great deal about this person’s well-being and overall happiness. I just don’t know what it means for my general well-being and overall happiness. If that even makes any kind of sense.
I know I’m only 34 and things can change at the drop of a hat, but I’ve already grown accustomed to the idea of growing old alone. I even welcome it.
I won’t be entirely alone, of course. I’ll always have my friends and family, but a single partner to spend my entire waking life with? I think not.
So why is there a snow leopard at the top of this post? They’re solitary creatures. I’m fairly solitary, and like snow leopards, I seek out company when necessary: growth and connection, mating, etc. I know that’s simplistic, but whatever.
Leave me to my fantasy. If I were in “His Dark Materials” by Philip Pullman, I’d have a snow leopard dæmon like Lord Asriel.
Definitely some kind of feline dæmon, anyway.
Why am I so adamant I won’t find a life partner? Well, I’m not really looking for one.
I date to meet interesting people. People are like books. There are billions out there with billions of stories and experiences unique to themselves. I want to explore and learn about as many as I can.
Within reason. Dating is exhausting even at its most fun.
When I think about all the people and all the books I’ll never get to experience, I’m both in awe and disappointed. So little time. So much I’m missing out on.
But I’ve set a steady pace. Instead of devouring things and never fully enjoying them, nowadays I spend precious time with people, and with books. This also means revisiting or perhaps rekindling old relationships. Or attempting to, anyway.
Best laid plans and all that.
I realize I’m not making a lot of sense and this is all incoherent nonsense. I’m in a ruminative mood but outputting it through my fingertips isn’t quite getting the job done this morning.
I think I’m trying to express my disdain for rigid social norms around all kinds of relationships and the roles they play in our lives. The emphasis we place on some versus others. The significance we give to certain roles over others.
At this point in my life, I’m focusing more on friends and family than romantic relationships. Some might say I should be doing the opposite, that I’m getting on in age and I’ll never find a partner at this rate. To that: Fuck off.
I decide what is important to me, not some ticking societal clock. I’m not seeking to check off any goals in the game called LIFE.
I am taking the time to strengthen the bonds that secure me and make me whole: my friends and family. I am showing them who I really am and hoping they love me anyway, as I love them.
In Hollywood, in literature, it’s all about romance. Romance gets the eyeballs.
But I prefer the stories about families and friendships. The generational trauma and angst in families. The friendships that survive the horrors of high school and college. The people who fill the majority of the pages of your life.
I do think there is value in romantic relationships, but as a culture we place too much pressure on them. They do not need to define our entire adult lives. The pursuit of them should not consume so much of waking moments.
Anyway, I don’t believe any of that made sense but I’m publishing it regardless. I should write more so I can practice writing coherent posts, not whatever this is.
Good morning, San Francisco!