Skip to main content

Beginnings, and other ways of being.

So today I begin my trek up to Philly. I'm going up to visit a friend in Baltimore and stay the night, then on to Philly tomorrow.

The curious thing of it is the Baltimore friend; rather, that's what's on my mind. He recently started exploring his attraction to men, so it's not surprising that he warned me that he doubts he'd be able to offer anything serious. Yes, I'm probably going to sleep with him, as if that didn't go without saying. But for now it will probably be that and friendship.

I'm pretty okay with this. I've found it's actually not that uncommon in the gay community to have good friends you sometimes sleep with or fool around with, but don't have much expectation of a relationship, at least to begin with. Yeah, it can get messy sometimes; sometimes feelings develop despite themselves. But I can say from personal experience that I've at least made out with a good number of my gay friends and remained friends after. Not that I'm a paragon of stability and good decision making and setting boundaries, but yeah.

What really fascinates me here, though, is an example how my brain works. As I often aim for with posts like this, this post really isn't him at all. It's entirely selfish, in an introspective and inquiring way. I'll do my best to keep this as anonymous as I can. I'm also not bemoaning the situation but, rather, merely musing on the inner workings of my brain, and some interesting things that have come to light. It's prompted me to wonder more than usual about what I'm looking for.


We've been friends a long time and get along great, we share a lot of core beliefs, I've always found him pretty hot, and so on. But while my brain knows and understands his reasons for not guaranteeing regular dateness or relationshipness, some part of it slips back to considering just that. And I'm not sure why.

See, I don't even know how romantically compatible we'd be. We certainly haven't fooled around or anything; for all I know, we'll have terrible chemistry in bed. Our conversations have only skimmed lifestyle matters; for all I know, we'd end up horribly impatient and frustrated with eachother for some reason or another. And it's not like Baltimore is exactly next door; it's close, sure, but still a 30 or 40 minute drive or hour and a half train ride. And yet for some reason my brain still wants to ask, even nag, "Well, why couldn't we be more than friends? why couldn't we try dating-dating?"

My point is, the situation doesn't offer a whole lot of evidence or reasons for my brain to be nagging me like this. Am I really that needy? I hope not. Regardless, what are my needs? What do I want? Am I on the hunt for a husband or will fun friends do for now? What are my intentions? What are my expectations?

These are questions I ask myself now and then anyway, but this occasion offers some different variables than the usual, I suppose. Also, of course, he's a good friend, and I don't want to mess things up with him or drag in a lot of baggage that neither of us really need.

In all honesty, I don't think that will actually be a problem. Like, for really. But I'm a worrier like that. At the same time, I'm confident I can go into this with string-slinging spinnerets disabled. I think, amusingly enough, that's because we are good friends. We can be open about all this--for fuck's sake, he brought this up yesterday not 3 months from now.

And while I don't know all the answers to those pesky questions, I do know or believe I know some or some parts of them. Like, I know I'm not actually looking-looking for a relationship. It's taken some self-discipline and training, but I've learned not to approach dates with those kinds of expectations. Instead I look to let things develop and go from there. Of course, I'd love a relationship, that'd be great stuff, but I don't make it the immediate goal when I date someone; rather I look to get to know them and see how we feel and interact and so on.

Maybe this unsubstantiated nagging--the "Well, why can't we date?"--is just an artifact of the way I used to do things, of what I've tried to unlearn. I used to feel a need for relationship, a need for something or someone to complete me; a codependent thrill when I thought I'd found it and agony when I, inevitably, lost it. I think I've come a long way since then--I no longer textbomb phones like I used to--but it's hard to say with things like this, ingrained behaviors, that they're ever truly gone.

But if that's the case, that this irreverent dissident nagging is just a remnant of how I used to carry myself, then all I need to do today and from here on is remind myself "He's my friend, and that's awesome; whatever happens, happens. Forget about those expectations and enjoy whatever comes of this. Whatever happens, happens."

Comments

Other things that might interest you...

On aging, and fear.

To begin with, I’m not sure you’re aware of it, but I’m middle aged. Oh? What gave it away? Using a blog as my primary literary medium?¹ Hm. But in fact, the APA defines 35 years as the end of “young adulthood.” Yeah. I found out via some shitpost on twitter when I was already 35, so it didn’t sit well with me then either. But my worries about aging began much sooner than that. See, even in my 20s, I feared I’d been wasting my life. I’d struggled with school and life and everything since graduating high school, arguably sooner, and nothing seemed to be going anywhere meaningful . I felt I had a limited social life, a dead-end job, no money, no great travels, a limping love life; I was, generally, a loser, wasting away... There were none of the usual hallmarks of success or happiness. And that scared me. Would my life have been worth it if I continued in this direction? Would it have been a “life well lived” by the end? So, this is my existential struggle. Even now, as I lurch ever nea

Changing lanes.

I was driving home in some traffic last night when I drifted, in my mind, a long way back (about 20 years) to high school. I was caught in one of those periodic traffic slowdowns as I floated back; you know, those waves of congestion that seem to pass backward through the columns of cars in each lane. (I've heard they start because someone switches lanes, and in response, a rippling emergent slowness travels backward and outward as the cars behind it accommodate the change, one by one.) What drew me back to those younger days was that, back in high school, similar phenomena of congestion took place in the halls between classes, when eddies of young humans would get caught in and around those clumps of those chatting by lockers or retrieving books. Occasionally, backups would occur when groups of people got caught in these eddies, or collided with other groups by the lockers, and slowdowns would ripple back from there. Maybe it's not exactly the same, but as I drove it seemed si

On phases and fixations.

My fixations are powerful, but they can also be maddeningly ephemeral and fleeting. And I hate that; about them and, honestly, about myself. But I’ve never really  asked why I feel that way... I'll commit immense amounts of time and energy and even money to a fixation for a few weeks, maybe even a month or two, sometimes rebranding my whole personality around it, then just...move on. I'm not sure when I first noticed this pattern—if it was always there or if it emerged and intensified over time—but it's been part of me for a long while. And every time I do, I feel such guilt and shame. Who even am I if I can't be consistent, dedicated, substantive? How disingenuous is it that nothing I care about lasts? I’ve always just accepted those feelings; I’ve never poked at them in earnest. If you can’t tell from the recent flurry of activity on this blog, I have been fixated on blogging; I mentioned in a recent post about this blog that I had a compulsion to revamp the whole bl