And never brought to mind.

Vamoose, Peace out, Goodbye, Adios. Never to return. Auld Lang Syne, the Swedish NYE pop-off song (that everyone only knows the first two lines to) gives us a good question to ponder as we enter the new year.

What are you taking with you? And, since we’re starting out deep, is this something that should be left in the old? Hmm..

I despise new year resolutions. Only because I never stick to them. The purpose is really just goal planning, manifesting and accountability anyway, right? Thinking a thing, planning to execute a thing and making sure to stick to a thing for the entire next year. Sounds easy for you driven folks, I’m sure.

But I did come up with something that I need to resolve. Vulnerability. I’m resolving to be more vulnerable and I am scared AF about it. It means I have to loosen my grip on my mental security blanket.

I keep holding onto the bad ass-ness of doing what (and who) I please, whenever I want. No kids to be responsible for anymore, nothing tying me down to anything or anyone, just me in motion. But what I don’t mention are the moments when I’m truly still. The truth I hear in those moments. That it’s time to share myself, deeply. I snap out of whatever trance I’m in and ignore it but it doesn’t go anywhere, something that I’m realizing more and more. With all the love I have in me, I’ve told myself that I’m content with only giving it to me. Bullshit.

The last time I opened myself to trust a person’s intent, by giving into chance, I received an illiterate inbox message from his wife.

I empathized with the wife because I’m sure it’s not the first time that she found herself doing that, but I can-the-fuck-not. I just can’t see myself grappling with that kind of betrayal at 45 with 5 grandkids. My man can’t be running around bringing that type of recklessness into what we have.

So I get caught up in that fear. Of trusting someone to love me the right way and they end up getting it all wrong and then I’m picking up pieces. Again. But guess what else I’m reminded of – THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ME. That’s on them.

It’s time to be open to more, without interference. I don’t want to date two, three and four people, juggling conversations and shit. I’m tired. With the exception of one person, I hardly ever answer calls and texts anymore. I want my one. That one. The one.

No one should be ever get used to being alone. Ooops, honesty Janell.. let’s try this again. I don’t want to get use to being alone. I don’t want moments anymore. Ahh, I said it. Maybe I’m going through a midlife crisis or, maybe not. But I was in my kitchen a few days ago, tearing the stove up. Music jammin, the vibe was so hot that I was smiling to myself up. After I plated my food and poured myself some wine, I settled at the dining room table, scooped a forkful of food and looked at the empty chair on the other side and loss my appetite. What in the fuck was this about? I felt a little tinch of sadness and was like oh hold up bitch, what are you doing? Where’d that come from? Then I dismissed it.

What I can’t dismiss though, is this wave of emotional nostalgia I’m experiencing lately. I’m digging out my old love poems, lingering over certain lines and remembering what inspired me to write them. I get teary-eyed watching online surprise proposals, I’m preferring cuddles over physical sex. What is happening? I think, yiiiiikes, I think I’m ready to settle in. I don’t say settle down. We are in and up, baby.

People think I have this long list of must-haves and must-be’s for men and I don’t. I only require that you be human. I only require You.

Completely. I want to know who you are and what you had to shed to get there. What are you afraid of, because I may be afraid of those things too. How do you need me to support you? In what ways do you need me to show up for you? Being able to share yourself in that way is freedom. All I desire, is someone who is just as free as me. Someone who is in a space of consciousness and peace, where opinions hold no rank or value.

Come as you are.

The gentleman I dated a few months ago was so hell bent on my knowing that he was my safe place. Talk to me about anything, ask me for anything, he’d say. But he didn’t reciprocate. There were moments when I could look at his face and see that something was wrong. It could’ve been something personal or maybe I’d done something that pissed him off. He wouldn’t tell me. After I’d raise hell, practically screaming in his face to talk to me, I’d be met with the same soft cotton response of, “I don’t talk about my feelings.” And I sir, cannot be with you.

I have to see the you that you love, and if you are still learning who that is, that’s just fine. I have to trust that you’ll see me too, and alllllllllll the amazing and not so amazing things that I’ve comes to love. We put so much energy into hiding behind these faces and minds that are not ours. I don’t have an alter to share. You get me, absolutely.

So that’s my truth right there. I need vulnerability. I need to feel vulnerable but you have to be too. If you can’t place your pearls in my hand, you aren’t getting mine.

I am a lover, naturally. I don’t break hearts. I don’t play games. I favor hours of in-bed conversations, talking about any and everything, over a night out. Or an evening in the kitchen with music, creating and conversing. I love a silent night on the sofa, legs locked, letting the lyrics of whatever song is playing provide a much needed mental escape for us, together. Or, you in your space and me in mine but because we’re spiritually, mentally and emotionally whole, we don’t sweat when aren’t physically present. Togetherness, gotdamn it.

There it is. Togetherness. The state of being close to another. You could be miles away from me, but I have to always feel like we are one. There are no secrets, just safe places.

Maybe then, I’d be more inclined to pause the peace of single-ladyhood and admit that I’d love coming home to someone consistently. I put all these rules and guidelines in place to protect myself from the bullshit, not love.

Safe. Lord, what a feeling. Can I just tell you how many times I’ve closed my eyes and said a silent thank you for the safety of strong arms and an embrace? After a long day, that extended arm that reaches out for you and pulls you close, aah! I could cry every time! It’s bigger than a forehead kiss for me, because it says I have you, you are safe with me.

Reciprocation. Vulnerability. Togetherness. Safety.

I’ve learned so much about love over the past few years. It is patient. But it isn’t kind. In my opinion, it should boast. It should be loud and outrageous and vivid and wild and breathtaking and high and wide and big and strong. It should represent everything that we are and all that we are willing to give for it, all that we are in it.

Those things doesn’t require Tinder, POF, Facebook dating, any of that shit. It requires two people who put it all on the table. Two, who have decided that the cat and mouse chase and muted feelings are for suckers. Two people who build their own world within this one and who will protect each other at all costs. You are mine and I am yours.

I don’t need a ring. A wedding, or posts on social media with constant tags. I need my one. My all that and a bag of chips because together we are going to be two righteous motherfuckers.

I’m afraid of hurt because I can’t control it. I can poker face my response to anything but hurt. I spent too many low, painful days trying to get my life on track after giving my full love and trust to someone who had no intent on giving it back.

Somebody que that Elsa song about letting go.

So at the stroke of 12 midnight, January 1, 2021 is when I ready myself for labor. The labor of a love I’m still running from. The running shoes will be left on 2020’s porch. I’m going in, all into love and I know that this is going to be some of the hardest, most painful shit that I’ve committed to in a long time. The other part of that, is saying goodbye to my protective barriers. People and things, distractions and occupiers, that I’ve put in place to avoid asking the question that I’ve never really wanted to answer because I knew the truth would mean action: “So just how long will it be before you decide to be in a relationship again? You know, you know Janell that you cannot do this single shit forever.”

I’m ready to do the work and move the obstacles to get there.


2 thoughts on “Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot?

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