I was sitting on a rock at the beach yesterday, trying to quiet my mind so I could ruminate on all the things that have been happening lately…
(goodbye to you my trusted friend)
…there's been a disturbance in the force somewhat, and I need to make some decisions about where my heart and my head…
(we've known each other since we're nine or ten)
…are at, where my finances are going…
(together we've climbed hills and trees, learned of love and ABCs)
(skinned our hearts and skinned our knees)
…and what I'm going to do when winter comes and business slows…
(WE HAD JOY!)
…and I need to pay…
(WE HAD FUN!)
…shut up!! I'm trying to think!
(we had seasons in the sun)
…really? Who invited Terry Jacks to this meditation? I need to concentrate…
This went on for at least 15 minutes, a battle waged between my need for the sound of the waves to lull me into peace, and the ear-worm's need to loop an AM classic through my brain at top volume, complete with the smell of baking vinyl from my mom's Ford Gran Torino wagon. I tried all the suggested remedies: singing the song through to completion, trying to sing something else, thinking of baseball (oh, wait, that's for something else…), nothing worked. Eventually I just gave in to it and hummed along. I guess obsessive moments, or behaviors, even unintended ones like broadcasting bad songs, are ways of isolating ourselves and turning away from pain. Distractions from uncomfortable realities. I need a distraction right now.
I believed, with the end of my marriage, that I had reached and conquered the final frontier of heartache. That I had turned over my fear of rejection. No more false bravado, but true comfort in my position; no more Saturday nights intoning fake profundities about how I've grown and changed, but acceptance of the single salvation of loving and appreciating myself despite my flaws. I felt that I was ready to be alone, or to be smooth and noncommittal about any sort of future relationships.
(go ahead. laugh. point and jeer. noncommittal? Is she HIGH?)
I can't seem to get it right. Why is it that solitary men have such a heroic patina, while women, despite their best intentions to remain ambivalent, just radiate neediness? I try to be aloof, and I feel lonely. I try to be spontaneous, and I miss the boat. I try to be organized and prepared, and I get dismissed for planning too far ahead. I'm starting to have the (mutinous) thought that it can all just go to hell. I Yam What I Yam, right?