Happy 2020, Folks.
The end of 2019 was quite a ride for me, none that I’ve ever experienced before. I went from feeling like I was soaring in full flight mode to looking for a safe place to land. Alone.
It’s not that I’ve lost interest in the game, y’all know I love it like Mitch. I missing depth. I’m missing that spark; that thing that just ignites you and makes you feel all warm and gooey on the inside. I felt cold and detached but had to remind myself that I had set it up this way by design. Each time I found myself journaling and trying to get to the cause of it, I ripped the page out. That road looked too dark to go down. I was dancing in the light, ignoring the shadows until the light dimmed and the music started to sound the same. What was missing?
Truth was missing. Ugh.
I wanted to tackle so many connections, lift stones and pull up roots from lovers and experiences past, but hadn’t thought about how the ramifications of doing that would boomerang back to me. I’ve been numb y’all. Again, something that I didn’t want to acknowledge willingly. But one thing about “doing the work”, you cannot do it half-assed and I had been.
2019 opened me to so many new experiences in the love and lust department. For the first time ever, I felt in full control of my life and love content. When it didn’t work for me or match my love vision, I politely excused myself. I didn’t waste time by telling people how I needed to be treated.
I reconnected the severed ties of emotion, spirit and sex and created some amazing ties in the process. But take the encounters out of the equation. Take the experiences and the orgasms and beautiful, black lovers out of it, subtract them all and what did I have? Just me. And some truth that I had to take a deep breath to digest.
What was I doing, besides doing it? What was I doing when I wasn’t doing it? I wasn’t doing me. Had I really buffed and smoothed my jagged edges? Sex and men had always complicated my life and I had finally mastered the balance of both without losing me in the mix. Or at least not all of me.
This is not about to be a vow of celibacy, believe that. Especially with the likes of Mr. 51 making me feel like warm cocoa is running through my veins. That man lights a fire in me that I refuse to put out anytime soon. The connections with him and others reignited passion in my life, I’m not severing those hot and juicy ties. They keep me vibrant. But this isn’t about him or anyone else for that matter. What it is about is me calling myself out on my own shit.
In my quest for sexual freedom and being this free-spirited love vessel, I subconsciously put energy out into the universe that said playing for keeps wasn’t allowed here. I was dating men on my terms but on my lonely nights, I rattled my brain about why my lovers allowed me stay inside the lines I’d drawn. Why wasn’t trying to twist my arm into a relationship? No one was trying to reel me in and I secretly felt down about it. I want to be tamed, dragged in from the wild and tended to. I wanted someone to tell me to stop, for them. No one did. With the exception of that short-lived experience with the lying ass married man, everyone just went along with what I said. I didn’t want a relationship, just a few good connections and that was it, right? So why was this thought secretly gnawing at me?
Because I do want love again. But I’m afraid. That fear empowered me in the wrong way. I invested more energy into third party satisfaction while forgetting about the most important piece – my heart. No matter how clear your third eye is or how in control you think you are of life and love, the heart is in control even when you aren’t.
I put my heart behind a locked door and pretended that I wasn’t waiting for someone to ask for the key. Until no one asked for the key. I want someone to ask for it. There, I said it.
Sex makes me feel powerful. Sex with good men makes me feel amazing. Great conversations and dates make me feel adored and warm. Take all of it away and what do I feel? Alone. And I told the universe that’s what I wanted and I received it. Knowing I want more eventually.
Just like a marriage, the work doesn’t begin with the I do’s. It begins when you realize that this is someone you never see yourself without. Here I am waiting for someone to see me in a way that I haven’t seen myself. I’m a forever person but got stuck in the mode of “just for right now.”
And so it begins. The challenge of adding heart back into the mix. It makes me feel vulnerable. Afraid. Unguarded.
But when I hit 50 in five short years, I don’t want to be tucked away in my loving bed waiting for a lover to call. I want to be on my side of the bed, nudging my babe to cut his light out on his side. I want to feel strong arms pulling me close in the middle of the night. I want come home and cry about a bad day and be told, “Babe, fuck them people.” I want someone who doesn’t mind getting up early on a Sunday morning to hike or surprises with impromptu weekend road trips. I want someone to lay beside on rainy Saturday mornings and have soft conversations about staying in or heading out to breakfast. I want to look across the room at gatherings with family and friends and meet eyes with my love.
That’s what I’m putting out into the universe. And hopefully, it will answer with my forever one. In the meantime, I’m working on being the love that I want to receive. Being the reflection of what I want to receive. Knowing that when it shows up, it is exactly what I’ve been waiting for.