A couple of weeks before my departure for my September trip to Milan, I received an explicit message from the D, the first since I had returned, followed by a short exchange:
“Were you disappointed in me…?”
He was referring to the weekend we had spent together.
I wondered if this was his way of telling me his honest thoughts (maybe he had been disappointed) or although it seemed insecure for someone as polished as him, did he really believe that I had not been pleased….?
Romantic weekend encounters were not something that I do regularly or with anyone – I had made that clear from the outset – and not just to make myself feel better about seeing him. Most, if not all things in my life now (food, fashion, friends) are selected for quality. In this case, there is also personal brand protection – you don’t see cues or sales at Chanel, but mainly to protect my heart.
Hadn’t I already communicated how I was feeling? He had already inspired almost three thousand words.
And then it was not something that one does by text but would I get the chance to see him? And even if I did see him, what could I say, where could it go?
I replaced my usual aloofness with honesty this time, even though it was only part of the story.
“When I feel vulnerable, I sometimes mask it as overconfidence.”
Was this common among other young, attractive, accomplished women?
Weeks earlier in a yin yoga class an acoustic version of Sia’s Chandelier played and I caught a glimpse of the girl I used to be.
“Party girls don’t get hurt…”
A song about the glamourous party life and of course, a one night stand. The fun of my early twenties was not, at the core, who I am. I noticed that now the game had stepped up a notch – could it be that now that I was clear on what I wanted, others sensed this too? Or he is simply not into you. Either way walk, unless he follows.
I didn’t know whether to be surprised, disappointed or despair at not having seen the D again before he embarked on his adventure. The first cut of this final section was lost due to a glitch with my Mac while I was contemplating if the title should be despair, disappointment or the name or the girl (or maybe it was a metaphor for a substance) coincidently starting with D that had perhaps distracted the D’s attention.
Whatever the reason, they were all assumptions based on social media and a projection of my own feelings! Days passed before I finally cleared my blocked energy (through yoga) to write.
And while I want to tell you that my story ends happily ever after – before I left, I made a conscious effort to spend more time with my dad – who indulged my choice of trashy romantic comedies – after all, “I am just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her,” there is no Hollywood ending, at least not right now. Or maybe ever.
I was left wondering what it meant that our paths had crossed after so many years and why I had a burning desire to explore it, resolving that the D had helped bring to light my dharma: to love and write, two passions that could only truly be fulfilled by a practice of non-attachment to the outcome.
What has love taught you? When have you risked it all? And do you believe in the magic of love?