As an advocate for wellness and seeking out the good in people to remedy sickness and dysfunction, pity has overtaken my triage room. This post will have a lot of metaphors so apologies for the abstraction. I am gaining the space, clarity, and companionship to realize I am a pretty good lover. I may not be the best partner, but until I remedy my own restless heartaches, I will continue to need to get up, walk away, and drift around the proverbial relationship dinner table. It is like if I cannot complete a meal. It is as if I'd rather reach out and pick from the buffet of desserts, resisting the necessity to sit down have some fresh greens and patiently sip from a scolding cup of chicken noodle soup. I with respect realize that the chef has plenty to contribute to this dinner, I have unfairly to myself induced unnecessary suffering for experiences that really have been reasons to celebrate.
I am dreaming again, and my dreams remind me of my romantic heart, my compassionate ears, my courteous ethic to entertain, and my commitment to forgiveness. As I have been asked to leave the relationship table or chosen to excuse myself, I forget to dignify the goodness that was shared while sitting, in favor of painfully and pitifully ruminating on the dysfunction and spoilage. It does not take very long to get up from the relationship table, but it has taken me awhile to realize the time i spent grieving the separation isn't proportionate to the time celebrating the joy created during these relationships. It has been cathartic and difficult to remind myself that the good outweighs infection. The sickness is what I grieve and regret but clouds or cut short the celebration of what was enjoyed.
I can be a selfish lover. I can be a delinquent lover. I can be a misunderstood lover. What I am slowly realizing is that each failure is helping me to discover my gifts. I started loving genuinely and with a trust that was vulnerable. This was many years ago as a young innocent young man. That was tarnished and exploited. I was emotionally abused, toyed with, and my love was disregarded by another restless young heart.
She is not to blame, but she did introduce me to the skills needed to protect myself from the pain, jealousy, disappointment, unfulfilled longing, loneliness, and vulnerability. She helped me build a habit of leaving early from the dinner table, because her soup burned my lips, and her greens were bitter, possibly poisonous. I have yet to come to a dinner setting with the commitment to eat what is served and learn to trust its sustenance. I see my cycle and venturing into the past with Donald over the last couple of years has helped both of understand why we grew to have restless hearts. We have been hurt too, but I realize the memory of the pain has stifled my ability to trust that the next setting can be different. I am preparing myself to joyfully be willing to trust, risk being lonely, long restlessly, struggle with disappointment, overcome jealousy, and be hurt.