A friend once called me the most ridiculously happy person she knew. I recently had a desire to look a bit more closely at my obnoxious
☮❁everything is beautiful❂♥ choice of seeing the world around me. I call it obnoxious because it is, simply put, a deliberate inability to let go of a kalopsic vision I've lived on for a long time. I'm pretty sure I'm better off clinging to it, because it is what I recognize in myself when they say people are programmed to believe. Discarding it, I'd wither away into something else, whether for better or for worse, I can't say. But I'm sure I'd hate the process.
To formulate what I mean by it is not the easiest task: this is, I think, the fifth time I sit down to write and rewrite this particular post. I've tried to express it in a myriad of different ways, e.g. through several projects of capturing "the thing, the spark, the cherry on top", but there are less conscious things that represent it very aptly, such as my getting very exited about the most trivial things, like moss growing on a balcony
the feel of fabric against my skin, under my fingers
or the way a word rolls off one's tongue
(
obnoxious);
such as my love for books and bodies and beauty; my desperate empathy that often does my harm than good, and my glee in keeping the mystery in things - I bet I'm being unnecessarily vague even now. It is what often keeps me from hating myself when I am riddled with guilt or grief, my unending appreciation for the friends I have and had, and the overly pronounced sense of loss when they're gone.
I've found that enough anxiety kills it. Killed it at least once. Lost the bubbles in my lemonade. Let life be taken over by tension in my chest and paranoia in my mind that wouldn't. fucking. leave. It was a long, dark period that destroyed many a thing I had built for the first time.
Yet, I am bubbly once more.
Holding on, baby steps, yada-yada.
Have a shallow thought - "Sex is not the point." Silly it may be, but that tiny, specific statement was one of the things that made it a lot easier for me to communicate comfortably again. It served as a comforting concept for a gullible, ample-bosomed girl like myself, wondering how much of my likeability depends on my sex-appeal. It also spread itself into a metaphor, proclaiming that people don't necessarily need you to be the version of yourself that benefits them the most. Now, with everything and everybody that has/have happened to me in the past couple years, such concerns have been, for the most part, exterminated, but it feels important to mention.
What's more, it was intensely liberating to realize that, for me, the pinnacle of a relationship between two people is not a super-intimate, love-crazed, daring, trusting, sexually mind-blowing samba. It used to be the dream, sure, but over time I've found that it's not really what I'm looking for. Because in there, somewhere, is mutual dependency, idealistically and perfectly balanced, and not included in my little vision bubble of realistically happy things.
Now, although my libido does, indeed, disagree from with me time to time, what I want most from the people around me is just that connection that keeps conversations going throughout the late hours in the kitchen, the spit-balling back and forth, throwing ideas, observations, admirations around. Joint creation, seewhatididthere, har har.
Being bi has probably had something to do with this, since there is a considerably smaller amount of differentiation within feelings towards people of either sex. Which I find very comfortable, but has also fucked up the perception of my feelings to the extent that I cannot, at times, understand what it is I feel for somebody, no matter how distant or close. Still, I can definitely proclaim that I love all of my friends quite dearly, mostly platonically. It's probably prudent to voice that the confusion is less present than it was when a few certain fucky-uppy relationships were more recent, so yeah, don't worry, it doesn't have to get weird.
My point, though, relates to the title.
There are few things that I value more in this world than the opportunity to trust someone freely, with body, mind, moment - giving and receiving, no questions asked. To be able to enjoy a presence at close proximity without any concerns of what that implies or what's expected of you. An opportunity to caress for the sake of a caress, letting warmth and affection float around without leading you anywhere.
Such an opportunity doesn't necessarily have the option to be understood, not completely, but therein lies the trust and the freedom I am so thankful for.
And in case the previous paragraphs have not unburdened me of the need to clarify, I am not talking about anything more revealing than cuddling. I could be, but as of yet, I am not. My loved ones (see above) are aware of the sensitivity of my body at different levels. I am very fucking ticklish, I have a neck-area-related paranoia/weak spot, and I am amusingly easy to seduce. The fact that I am somewhat more vulnerable that the average Jill does well to deepen my respect for that kind of rare moment I would not have always believed possible. Then again, life seems to get more beautiful and delicate each day.
Go figure.
