I woke up this morning almost forgetting what year I am in. I remember when L. moved out about 5 years ago and I was suddenly alone. I’d have these dreams full of people. Men who pursued me, obligations too many to satisfy. Maybe I was still on tour. Running, going, busy, anxious, pursued. Dreams rushing in to fill the vacuum. But in daylight there was just me and the grey winter. Work waiting to be done. Tea waiting to be brewed. Music. I was in a panic at the time that my life had shifted, possibly was over. But it turned out to be a false alarm.
Life went on. I made “The Finest Thing.” I got into cycling, running, yoga. Got healthy. Fell in love again. Spent the last three years in the passenger seat of a really nice car, being a passenger in someone else’s really great life. A little vacation from my own life. It was fun. But now that it’s done.
Once again, without having someone to love and be loved by, there is something empty about life, even as that notion is inaccurate. Romantic love crowds out so much that is valuable, even essential. So, I’m aware of that. Without the drug of it, my head is once again full of words, my own ideas, the desire to work. I have time for friends and family. There were times with D. when a part of me would be standing outside of it saying, “What the hell are you doing? Get back to your real life.” Sometimes, when I played one of his two Yamaha pianos, he’d come up beside me impatiently and want me to stop so he could have his turn. I don’t hold it against him but I wonder at my own ability to put so much of myself on hold just to have someone hold me at night and call me Baby.
I frame this differently from one day to the next. But today I want to believe that I am a hungry and happy adventurer, who has loved and come back to myself over and over again. I mean, truly. Who doesn’t give up everything to be called, “Baby?” What a miraculous occurance. That some stranger should be able to make his way beyond all my defenses (and there are many) and get to me, make my heart open up screaming with terror and delight. Should I have forgone all that glorious romance to have spent an extra number of years sitting at a table with a guitar in my arms?
Outside, it is the most February of days. Ice and rain dripping, pouring from the bare winter branches. Silent but for the sound of it. I got a version of “Oh the World” off to DW yesterday. It’s far from perfect, but I got an email back from him saying it was “beautiful.” It was more satisfying than a Valentine. It’s true that working on music is the only thing I have ever found that stops time in a way that makes me feel a part of what God is.