Keep on Loving You

Up in the wee hours this morning, a few things are keeping me awake. One of them is the chorus of this song, which is blaring internally:

And I'm gonna keep on lovin you 

Cause it's the only thing I wanna do 

I don't wanna sleep 

I just wanna keep on lovin you 

Now truly, I do want to sleep, and my newfound recognition of what it really means to let love drive instead of fear is only part of the reason I'm awake in the middle of the night. The other is the stress of carrying two mortgages, the buckling of the tile floor in the master bedroom, the lack of some additional money that I should have coming in but hasn't found its way to me yet... 

So I thought rather than tossing and turning, I'd get up, send some emails, write this blog, and afterward maybe, if I'm lucky, get a bit more sleep before my alarm clock goes off requesting that I get up for work. 

I was talking to a friend last night about our recent discoveries in our respective romantic relationships, both in ourselves and about our loves. And we were talking about whether it was necessary or even possible to find the stability that humans naturally seek in another human being. The buddhist teacher I was listening to the other day, Pema Chodron, would say no. But what my friend and I agreed on, which I had talked to my therapist about previously, is that the stability that is both reassuring and possible in a primary relationship is finding a way to have certainty with your person that you can be heard, and that your partner will do their best to both listen and understand.

And while I wouldn't say I've been like a snake coiled up in the grass playing dead:

You should've seen by the look in my eyes, baby
There was somethin missin
You should've known by the tone of my voice, maybe
But you didn't listen
You played dead
But you never bled
Instead you lay still in the grass
All coiled up and hissin

...I would say that I should've known by the look in my love's eyes that there was something missing; I should have known by the tone of his voice maybe, but I didn't listen. Not with my heart open. I was hearing him from an old place of wondering if it was something in me that was missing, or something in him that was missing, and not just something in the situation, which he'd been trying to tell me in big and small ways for at least a year.

About a week ago, I read something that made me realize I needed to listen more with my heart rather than my head, but I was still unable to really do it, even though I did share that with my boyfriend, saying I would really try.

So what's changed since then? A number of things, I reckon. One was reaching a point where I had a very clear message that I couldn't go on as I had been any longer; one was my boyfriend continuing to be brutally honest even when it meant cracking everything open further which I think it is safe to say was scary for both of us; one was my new year's day yoga class which helped open the back of my heart; and one was the movie I saw the night before last that made it crystal clear to me that, like REO:

And I meant every word I said
When I said that I love you I meant
That I love you forever...

I Can't Fight This Feeling

It's a rare song for which, after a long day, a workout, and a trip to the grocery store, I'm willing to sit in my car in my driveway to listen to it when it comes on just as I'm arriving at home. But this classic REO tune met that strict scrutiny test tonight:

I can't fight this feeling any longer.

And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow.

What started out as friendship,

Has grown stronger.

I only wish I had the strength to let it show.

I tell myself that I can't hold out forever.

I said there is no reason for my fear.

Cause I feel so secure when we're together.

You give my life direction,

You make everything so clear.

And even as I wander,

I'm keeping you in sight.

You're a candle in the window,

On a cold, dark winter's night.

And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might.

And I can't fight this feeling anymore.

I've forgotten what I started fighting for.

It's time to bring this ship into the shore,

And throw away the oars, forever...

And just for the record, I have, in fact, thrown away the oars. I was having lunch with a friend today, and telling him about my new(ish) relationship, and how as impractical as it seemed (with the distance and the timing) and as much as I felt in my mind that the right thing for us to do was to break up, it just didn't stick. "That's a really good sign," he said.

Yep. And as goofy as REO's metaphor is in some ways, I intend to enjoy life on the shore without the oars. Which to me means that I no longer need an escape hatch, and I'm really, really grateful for that. It opens up another whole realm of possibility...