I’ve noticed something this month. You want more of me–more attention, more focus, more time, energy. You nearly pounce on me when I come home from work, follow me around the house, call me back when I leave the room (sometimes when I return to ask what you want, you stare at me…frozen…searching for an excuse,) you even rap on the door every time I close it to change or use the bathroom…again, with no purpose but to knock on the door, to whack at the barrier between us.
Giving of myself to others in the way that normal people give has always been a challenge to me. And this blog is so typical of that failing, because the fact is: I so want to give to the people around me all the time. I want to give to strangers, too. But I find it so difficult to give in ways other than this: alone, undistracted, arranging frozen thought forms for others to decipher, process and benefit from later, in their own time. And what I’ve also learned is that the people around me who get to know me a little want more of me too. So this is how I’ve been moving through the world for the past 40 years: wanting to give; others wanting to receive me. You would think such complimentary wants would leave countless, brilliant intimacies in my wake. Instead, I founder socially, and give in private.
First of all, I don’t accept that this failing is insurmountable, and second, I’m always fighting it. I just usually lose.
You are the person in my life I fight the hardest to connect to in a way that matters to you in the moment. But this month, I worry that I’m losing that battle too.