The Village (Pt. 1)

The Village (Pt. 1)

It is easy to look at the past and wax nostalgic on the good things, pushing to the side the things that weren’t working, particularly when you’ve a brain crammed full of all the feel inducing hormones.  Often those things are what ultimately inspired movement away from one space into another.  That transition can be traumatic, leaving its lingering stinging sensation for many moons.  Necessary change tends to un-turn stones long forgotten and there is always some experience of whiplash from this occurring. Once this whiplash sorts itself out, we seldom want to view it again.

I had said from an early age, mostly influenced from my childhood, that I would only bring children into this world if I had the village to raise them.  I recognized the lack of cohesiveness in my family and how being young and thrust into a large shift had its repercussions on my upbringing. Everyone did the best that they could, I must state. But I knew that it didn’t have to be that way and in response I crafted my first agreements with the universe.  I required a partner who was able to show up and be fully present, helping to create a proper support network for the child in question. I also required the village.  Other vague wishes were for this to occur sometime in my late twenties and with some financial stability.  I almost got those pinned into place, but I knew that if the first two were present, I needn’t worry too much.

Enter my current partner, Tom. Upon meeting him for the first time several years ago, there were some heart sparkles but we were both involved and I’d probably have eaten him that point in time anyway.  I can admit I have had tendencies to do so.  I was buying a large number of lemons and he cracked a joke referencing a seedy dark corner of the internet from long ago. I was both charmed and horrified that I knew what he was talking about and that he knew that I knew. I’m not going to share with you the direct reference because you’re better off not seeing it.  Best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Coming back to the island was like stepping into a dream.  Part of that dream largely involved my re introduction to Tom. It began at a “homecoming” potluck where we a group of us gathered for tea, music and good food.  My best friend (I shall invent a more just way to call her) introduced us to a game which has since become a party favorite called ‘What is, It is.’ You receive three pieces of paper and on one side of each you write one ‘What is…’ question, then you fold them and put them in a hat.  After everyone is finished, you draw three from the hat and without looking at the question on the opposite side of the paper you write an ‘It is…’ statement.  You then read them out loud and some pretty incredible synchronicities unfold.  The most prominent of the evening being between Tom and me: What is the point of being friends with a bird if she is just going to bite the shit out of you? It is a flying fuck.

The more time spent together meant watching this sort of effortlessness unfold, a general ease of being together. Our first kiss happened at the end of a rainbow that presented itself to us and our walk back was flanked on either side by a single hibiscus flower containing a slug. Everything about our movement together just worked.  We laughed a lot, entering a world that was weirdly our own.  When we mentioned children, there was no immediate recoil of fear and inadequacy, no intensity around that massive life change. The level of enthusiasm was unlike anything had been for a long time.

Tom’s heart seems to be made out of gold and when looking into it and I often find myself wondering where that caliber of being even comes from. (The answer is Baltimore, in case you were wondering.) His enthusiasm was and is unwavering in the face of my sly (or not so) attempts to hide and not be seen.  Truthfully, I am not used to having someone show up so genuinely.  My past has been marked with ambiguity and games that in hindsight I was participating in.  Patterns of behavior that allow two people to look at each other but not really see what is going on are well played in today’s day and age.  Although it breeds suffering, it is a convenient way to circumnavigate the real work of a relationship, but still received all the perks of being in one.  This has been a difficult one to take accountability for because when I look at it, I know better.  I know we deserve better and to leave anything in a space of detrimental ambiguity for the fear of making waves is a cop out.  It is quite the harmful side step particularly long term.

Tom teaches me that. I am free to create the relationship that I want to see, one that serves us both in our highest intentions.  I have to remind myself that our life doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before; new patterns are formed just as much as there is space to form them. I’ll admit that I’m not as graceful at it as I’d like to be at times but I’ll keep showing up because we’ve been paired together irrevocably. The commitment to bring forth a life is one we’ve entered into with full enthusiasm, vowing that if we ever don’t make each other laugh, we’ll simultaneously shoot each other in the leg… or go paintballing.

I’m the luckiest lady alive and we are in it to win it.


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