“…And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” –Anais Nin.

I went to Dantes to meet Grace Thursday night for the peddicab tour of downtown for research. I was sitting out front with one of the bartenders and we were having cloves together while talking about mythology.

The bartender seems concerned that I would up and leave because he kept saying, “I’m sure he’ll be here any minute. He’ll be here don’t worry.”
I thought that was very charming and cute, maybe he knows I’m a runner and was trying to keep me calm. I dunno.

Grace drove up in his peddicab at 10 pm. He was wearing his white cowboy shirt and white bandana and someone nearby said, “Hey lady, your chariot is here!”

I almost laughed at how funny it seemed that the beautiful peddicabber in white was picking me up in a “chariot”. Somehow fitting and also rattled my nerves a little.
The next three hours were very business-like. I did my research, interviews and collected data. I asked him to take me anywhere he thought was noteworthy or interesting enough to explore a little more. I wanted to see things from his perspective.

Don’t get me wrong, for all the business-like professionalism I thought I had, I was all too aware of Grace’s fine posterior directly in my line of sight for about 3 hours. Finally, exhaustion got the better of me and I said, “I’m done for the night.”

He turned left and took me on a cruise of the waterfront at night and as I was comfortably relaxed and drifting into a lull of fatigue as he peddled me down the causeway, I thought, “In different circumstances, this would be very romantic.”

So I wondered, why isn’t it romantic? City lights reflecting off the water. The still breath of a metropolitan resting between the valleys of buildings against a stretch of night sky and a beautiful man glancing back at me from time to time to smile. Why isn’t it romantic? Maybe because I was on business? Because I am holding myself back so hard? Not wanting it to be romantic because I might feel something?

He pulled the cab over at near the cherry trees and turned around to face me. We talked a little about my project and one thing led to another and soon we were kissing again.

I met him again yesterday where we stretched out on a blanket in the park kissing and watching the canopy of trees. Then later went to my favorite writing spot to make out and talk. In one week I have been with him four times and capped my phone messages out twice. In one week I’ve forgotten to write, to do laundry and I can’t focus at work. All day Monday as we were texting, my belly with clench with such force when my phone dinged that I thought I might have contracted the swine flu. It was such a powerful response and so far removed from my memory of such things from 15 years ago, that I actually thought I was getting sick.

The more I am with him, the more his humanity is revealed and the glaring flaws of his persona that make him deliciously complex. It seems impossible – but I may have met the one person on this planet with more fears of intimacy than myself. He is hollowed with insecurities that are buffered well by his charm, which I believe leads him to make short connections with little lasting potential and when they fail it reinforced his vacancy and fear of a true and powerful mind-blowing connection.

The amazing thing about this, is knowing him has helped me to understand – I am not alone in this fear. All this time I have felt estranged by this and have found in him, a companion spirit with the same capacity to love in volumes and a desperate fear of doing so.

He hides behind his cocky bravado and slippery charm. I hide behind my independence and my ability to flee.

On my way home, I thought about him. Thought about how he has stirred something in me that I thought long buried. I thought about how, from the dregs of what lies beneath my need to accomplish dreams, forge my own way in the world, be independent, and self-sufficient and strong – there, in the silt of my subconscious stirred a longing to be allowed to be fragile.

All those things still, but also the new and burgeoning desire to let that part of me have air, a desire to let go of distrust and put my faith in someone again. Someone who could support my emotional weight on a day that I am too tired to support myself. Not carry me… but support my mind when it is overtaxed with all the analyzing, support my heart when it is too heavy for me alone to hold, support my epic need for adventure. And in the morning when I am strong again, someone who will revel in my strength and enjoy the light that I have the ability to shine when I am securely in loved and in love.

Over the years I have held at bay – sometimes with great effort – my own passions. My fear of intimacy has effectively given me a door by which to shut anyone out with the merest hint of imperfection and slowly I have been suffocating myself.

Now that I have tasted those first delicate moments of chemistry, and the timid longing of being wanted, the valves of heartworks I thought rusty are gasping for air the vaguest hint of oxygen and a world of fresh sky on the other side of that door. A little nudge could send me tumbling trough into open daylight amidst the backdraft of strangled need meeting abundance. Or a wrong event could also slam me back to a place of absolute fear and isolation.

So I find myself, uncomfortably trembling on a threshold of something new and terrifying and I am paralyzed with indecision.

I’m not asking for a marriage and children. I’m not asking for the epic storybook fairytale of love… but what I need to know for myself is if I can handle cracking open door without exploding. A few dates. A couple of deeper conversations. Can I inch into the concept – the very theory of sharing myself and taking someone inside me without being consumed, lost or overwhelmed. Too fast and I could erupt in flames. Too slow and I might expire.

What I must do for myself is discover if I can come out of hiding gently, safely and with enough damage control that I do not rush back inside if the timing is all wrong. If the person is all wrong.

I got home in the early hours of morning after spending the evening tangled with him in the park under the trees. All the way home I thought of this. I thought of backdraft. I thought about how his lifestyle is so impermanent. He is a freedom loving man with few ties to anything lasting. He is as flawed as I am. As scared as I am. As hurt as I have been. We are humans together. He is reluctant to be moved emotionally. I am reluctant to feel. We are both so broken, as people tend to be. So this is a delicate operation.

I texted him when I got home. “I can’t see you on Sunday. I can feel myself starting to get attached so I think I should step back. I don’t want to gum up your works.- Thank you for understanding while I figure out what I really want.”

He replied, “Do what you feel is best then you wont be sorry later.”

I have no idea what he wants from me. I don’t think he does either. I have no idea what I want from him. For all I know, he has no desire to be in the direct path of my backdraft. Maybe he likes the impermanence. Maybe he is attracted to that part of me that fiercely shields myself so he doesn’t have to be affected by my clumsy remembering.

I am frozen, perched between the desire to huddle and stay safe and the urge to take make a running shove at the door – into the air on the other side. Truthfully, the running shove seems the most appealing. Get it done. Get it over with. See the sky again! Whether Grace is the man I want to test that with I don’t know. Maybe it will be with the date I have Sunday morning that I accepted last week. Maybe it will be a year or ten from now.

But the point is, I am ready to have faith in someone again. Faith in a person… I don’t believe I just said that. The light is seeping in.

I guess it’s time to Breathe.