Week 8 of Brahmicharya

So, I hit a wall last week. My MAN, whom I should probably stop calling MY man, told me he doesn’t know how he feels about me. Even worse, he said, “It’s like you were never here.”

Glad I made such an impression. Over a year.

Part of me feels so hurt that I can’t stop crying. And another part of me understands exactly what he is saying. The crying part is understandable. The other – well, I am a Miami Yogi. My entire practice is about detachment. It is about being in the present and fully experiencing where you are with the people right in front of your nose.

I am not in Miami. He is.

How the hell are we supposed to keep up a relationship when we aren’t even in each other’s daily lives?

That’s the thing – we never officially had a relationship. In my mind, I was trying to create one while he had no plans or expectations for us. He was just enjoying me for the moment. This was OK when I was in Miami. When I knew this was the truth, I just accepted it and then I tried to break it off. But then he asked me to stay. So I did. And now, because we didn’t state our expectations, I am left here hanging. Am I single? Do I date other people? Why does this automatically mean that I have to date other people? Why do I have to replace him with someone else? Do I need someone else?

At this point, no. Why do I need a MAN?

I know that when I see an older woman waiting alone at a bus stop, I don’t want to be like her. When I see an older woman working, I don’t want to be like her.

I want to be in the peak of my writing career as an old woman. I see myself living peacefully in a house writing while my MAN is painting. We travel together. We cook and eat together. We are healthy and exercise together. We massage each other. We adore each other. We take care of each other.

This job gives me three weeks paid vacation this year. And four weeks next year. It’s a very cushy place to be. If I get into school this fall, which I feel in my heart will happen…

Next time he says, “It’s like you were never here,” I will say, “You don’t think of me when you shred documents?”

I know. Delayed reaction. It’s just that I left my shredder there so that there was something of me left there. And I gave him my parents’ stool. But he gave me things too. His bed frame. His green scarf. A journal with an “M” on it. He let me drive his expensive car.

Oh Geez. I’m such a 14-year-old.

He has already contacted me twice via Skype after the dramatic episode last week when he told me he doesn’t know how he feels.

We actually had an interesting conversation on Skype today. I told him about my yoga teacher and he told me he was starting a new painting and I told him I would use the female Russian suicide bombers as inspiration for my comic books.

We talked like friends, which we both need to realize is the basis for our entire relationship. He is hung up on having a “girlfriend” who will steal his independence. I am hung up on our status and needing his attention at least once a day. Am I wrong for needing him once/day? Yes and no. I have been brainwashing myself with Deepak Chopra since yesterday. I would really like to be immune to object referral, where my sense of self comes from other people’s approval. The more I work on my art and take care of my responsibilities, the stronger I feel.

I feel like emailing my MAN to tell him he is looking at our relationship all wrong:

Dear MAN,
If you think of me as your girlfriend, your sense of freedom and independence will inherently feel threatened.

If you think of me as the friend you can share all your creativity, hopes, dreams, worries, secrets, wisdom, bed, food, and responsibilities, then you may feel less stifled… like you can evolve in this world.

Similarly, when I think of you as my boyfriend, my self-esteem plummets because I go nuts trying to please you so that you don’t leave me.

When I think of you as my artistic muse, who inspires me just by being yourself, I feel peaceful, blissful, optimistic. I can evolve in this world.

Our relationship does not have to mean “settling down” nor does it need to be “serious” in the way that others define their romantic relationships. I have tried many times to fit myself into the paradigm of my parents and my brother and sister, only to find myself feeling creatively stifled and unhappy.

There are many reasons I think you are the “one,” but if I were to whittle them down to one main idea: you know how to handle me. I don’t know if this ability comes from love or respect or both – I just know that I can reach my highest self by your side because I trust you.

I know – the journey to one’s higher self is solitary, and I shouldn’t depend on someone else, and I could probably survive without you. But just surviving isn’t enough for me. I want to spend the rest of my time here on earth creating – not just surviving. The more I create, the happier I become, the more love I am capable of giving to others, the less resentful, angry, sad I am. This is the first time I have been able to express this in words. I knew when I met you that you were significant. I didn’t know why, so I just followed my instincts and my desire. I made a point to write everything down so that I could be more conscious of why I was attracted to you rather than repeating the same stupid script of Hollywood and my previous relationships.

I trust you completely. There have been times others have tried to tell me I shouldn’t trust you because you love your freedom and you enjoy beautiful women. If you and I were in their kind of relationship, then yes, I would agree with them. And I would be lying if I said I don’t struggle with jealousy and co-dependency or that I wish you would just be faithful to me.

There is reality and there is fiction. And then there is extraordinary living. When we first met, you explained to me that you felt individuals should be self-sufficient. I was excited when you said this. It’s an odd thing for a girl in love to get excited about.

After so many failures why would I still want to try? Why should I think that things would be any different with you? You said at one point you don’t believe romantic love can last. And you are ambivalent about your feelings toward me now. Maybe you feel like I did toward my college boyfriend. I am nice to you.

But I sense you feel more than that. I have felt more in your touch and I have seen more in your eyes at random moments.

Although…I could be hallucinating. I have learned that we often see/feel things we want to see.

It doesn’t matter. None of it. I just know I have strong feelings for you and I enjoy the rhythm of our relationship. We met and then we separated, we came back together and then I had to go to Atlanta, back together and then I went to Orlando, back together and now I am in DC. This has been the most difficult separation. But I am starting to understand its significance in the rhythm…it’s a long pause so we both can reassess, reflect, make adjustments and focus on our own individual endeavors without the other interrupting.

It’s definitely too long. He used to read my long emails, when I was still new, but now I’m just a girl fading in his memory.

Work is what I am supposed to be focusing on right now. But his friends have become my friends. For example, the Executive Producer called me to talk about his wheeling and dealing with people of very little integrity…but then he asks me the question that punches me in the stomach:

“You and the MAN are still together, right?”

“Well, we…”

“Oh, you already answered,” he says.

“I am in love with him,” I say, “But I can’t be with him right now.”

“You sound like the girl from ‘Titanic,'” he says.

“No, it’s not like that,” I say, feeling frantic. “I want to come back to Miami. I am just here to work and make money.”

So he sends me a listing for a travel writing gig with Examiner.com. But I started a project here and I have to finish.

Regardless, I am irritated that I can’t just say, “Yes, we are still together.” We were never really “together” anyways. It just appeared that way. The Executive Producer didn’t know that my MAN was not sure how he feels about me. He didn’t know that my MAN does not call me his WOMAN.

And he probably doesn’t care.

“I was chatting with your MAN last night while I was chatting with you,” he said.

“Oh! I know! He told me. What did he say to you? I mean, to be all high school about it.”

“He says you two make a good team.”

And that’s all he offers me.

Oh, geez. A good business team? A good team in life? A good team for making art? A good team for making babies?

He insists on letting time unfold the true nature of our relationship.

I feel like using this exchange to bring up the topic with my MAN but in my heart I know I am not supposed to react immediately and I must let this just pass because more than likely I am thinking more about it than the Executive Producer is. I told the truth – that I am in love with my MAN. The Queen Bee knows this too. If it gets back to my MAN, so be it. This isn’t the worst thing he could hear. Because I do. And yet a part of me feels like I disrespected myself by professing my love for my MAN to someone else who I hardly know…especially when it puts me in a vulnerable position if my MAN decides he doesn’t want me that way…he has all the power, doesn’t he? But I said, ever since the beginning of this story, that no one could take away my power as long as I acted in love and not fear.

And then I realize I am worrying now about what I said like I was worrying on Monday about my my cousin’s Facebook comment that I have “commitment issues” after I posted a status update that I am like Mary Poppins, flying from place to place and not getting attached to anything or anyone. Ugh! Who cares what she thinks? This is all object referral – my sense of peace coming from others’ approval. I have to get over this. First step is awareness. Second step is learning how to edit. Third step is realizing that no one else is thinking about this but you. Everyone else is thinking about their own shit and you are not the center of everyone’s attention.

I keep sleeping in. I stay in bed until 9:15. Surely this is a luxury yet I am miserable. Because I am still in DC and not in my MAN’s bed in Miami. Waking up to the dogs biting my hair. My MAN throwing his arm over my hip before pushing me away to check his email and Facebook news feed. Looking at the ocean and then making coffee. My MAN telling me the bad newz of the day. Updating my clients’ web sites before taking the dogs out for a walk. Perhaps because I never got angry or complained or made demands he barely noticed my presence. If I ever felt anything negative, I just tried to express it in healthy ways like running or swimming in the ocean or making artwork, rather than crying to him. Because I was just glad to be there. I had found home.

And now I am here. Despite my best efforts via yoga, making new friends, cooking, taking baths, singing songs, reading books, writing on my blogs and iPhone, editing video…I feel empty. My MAN became my home. And he has made it clear that he doesn’t want me or anyone in his home.

He’s not interested in a co-dependent woman clinging to him during the prime years of his life.

My sister and brother have their homes. Me? I am still wandering.

Don’t think about all those things you fear…

Just be glad to be here…

Last year I thought I had reached that state of samadhi that allowed me to be fearless and all love no matter the geography. And now here I am in utter fear as I walk the streets of DC even though I know I’m supposed to be here. I haven’t “relaxed into the pain” of my heartbreak. I haven’t embraced my solitude fully. Or have I? As the Southern Belle with a British accent and so many others have pointed out, I am so “unaware of myself,” which meant I was a beautiful spirit in a beautiful shell and I took it for granted.

“You are disarmingly beautiful,” said the gray-haired man with a young face. A Richard Gere. He slipped me his phone number while the latest pack of girls I’ve latched on to flirted with the police officer writing up a theft report for a purse that got snatched from right underneath her feet. Now that’s what I call unaware.

I am tempted to latch onto this diversion…why? Just because I’m afraid of walking my path alone? Because all these strangers fill up the empty space, the off-time after work? This is the Lost in Translation story. The Urban Mermaid out of water.

I just need to face reality. If I were still in Miami with my MAN, the glaze of romance would be gone and I would start to see his flaws. They would begin to annoy me and I would stop giving him the benefit of the doubt. I would forget to worry about my own life and health and I would begin to manage his, while he wallows in his inadequacy. And on top of all that crap would be my insecurity. I was afraid of being with my MAN for extended periods because I would become overly worried about my appearance. He loves beautiful women and after a few years, my self esteem could plummet without having a strong sense of myself and a definitive direction and passion.

I am strong enough to take care of myself. The girls last night expressed their distaste for needy, overly emotional people. They are left brain programmers and don’t understand these qualities are necessary for an artist – as long as they are channeled into art and not relationships!

One of them said she and her boyfriend were ultimately incompatible because they were both too practical. I am obviously impractical. Have I ever dated a practical guy? Sure!

Yes. I was immediately attracted to my MAN because he was a balance of practical and impractical. He dresses well. He eats well. He travels well. He is an entrepreneur. His own boss. No one tells him what to do. The first born child who takes responsibility.

But I must note, at 10:33 am that I am not missing Miami, or my MAN, or the puppies, or anything of my home. I am here. Right now. In the past, I would declare, “I am over it! I am over him!” I know better now that I feel different wayz on different dayz. My moods swing drastically and making decisions based on them have caused my zig zagging path.

I am not over him one bit. He called last night, so I feel satisfied. Like I got my medicine. I was thinking yesterday, “What’s so wrong with being attached to someone? Why can’t I be? Isn’t this part of the beauty of life? Forming deep bonds with others? Sharing the ups and downs?”

It is stupid to think I have to be alone in a world full of 6 billion people. What am I trying to prove? I need other people. I suppose the distinction I must make here is that I have used people in the past to manage my emotions. Nobody wants to be a receptacle for my worries. And yet, if you don’t express frustrations on occasion everyone thinks that you think you are perfect, that you are better than them, thus alienating yourself even further. There is no winning with people. They are all just as moody as I am so it’s best to keep it superficial with most and keep the deep thoughts within a few trusted confidants.

Chatter. Chatter. Chatter. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter.
The wheels of the sex machine churn turn burn.

Yoga Chitta Vritti Neruda.