Out From Under My Rock, or, How I Learned the Power of Vulnerability

I am currently in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, starting my summer vacation. I came here so that I could see my last class of students here graduate. On my second evening in town, I met several former students who graduated last year for coffee and to catch up. "So," several of them said, "you haven't written a blog post lately. How are we supposed to stalk you if you stop writing posts?" (I hope you're all reading this, ladies.)


The fact is, I have been unsure what the role of this blog should be now that I'm in a vastly different mental, spiritual, and of course physical space. I've already written about this confusion, but it has only increased over the previous six-or-so months. I love writing, poor as I am at it, and so I don't want to give up this blog entirely. But I also don't want it to turn into a sort of self-serving bin for my brain-garbage, like a public confessional. I also don't want to delude myself into thinking that (aside from a few curious former students) people are interested in whether or not my last relationship was a success or not, who I'm currently dating, what events are on my social calendar, etc.

Then again, all I can do is put myself out there. People might glean something from my mistakes. They might share in my happinesses. They might commune with me in my sadnesses. Or they might not.

There have been times when I've returned to old journals (like I did in a series of posts on this blog) and shook my head pityingly at my many short-lived-but-oh-so-intense amours. This is the case with my previous blog post of January 16. Almost. I shook my head, but in a different way. I still feel what that guy felt, if I can view the author of that post as a different person. And because I feel like I am constantly learning and growing--good lord, will it ever stop?!--it is almost like the Me of January is a different person. (Maybe that's what makes reading old journals such an odd experience.) But I look back almost as a proud father this time rather than a disappointed mentor. I'm proud of that guy who put himself out there, acknowledged his vulnerability, and was honest about what he was feeling.

That relationship, alas, didn't last long, despite the burnings in my bosom in those first two glorious weeks. The fact of the matter is that, because of my many "failings" in the past, I had latched into qualities in Luke--name changed--that I felt I had overlooked in previous others in favor of more immediate ones (like looks and passion). Luke was cerebral, very cerebral. He was gentle and kind to a fault. He was soft-spoken and measured in everything he said and did. I loved the mental, intellectual, and spiritual connections we had; and they were real, I'm happy to be able to say. I overlooked the areas we lacked because these other ones were seen as more substantial, weightier, more prone to longevity. I looked past the lack of a physical connection. I was fine that we had no sexual connection. I didn't feel passion for Luke. But I saw all these lacks as portents of positive outcomes since I had been so focused on passion in the past. There came a breaking point, however. (I don't want this post to get crazy-long, as there are other things I want to talk about, so I will drastically shorten this story.)

Luke and I planned a road trip to California. We both love road trips and roller coasters and museums, so a trip like this was ideal. It was going to be a blast! I was so excited to share this experience with Luke, and he was excited too, or at least as excited as Luke could get about anything. I created a Road Trip playlist, complete with driving jams and 80's hits. I went to the store to get snacks and drinks. You know, things most people do when they are going on a road trip. I can sum up our entire weekend in just a few words: "almost silent" and "no sleep." We didn't talk. The most we said to each other during the seven-hour drives to and from L.A. was "Do you need this next rest stop?" or "I'm going to stop here for gas." I sang every song that came on. Luke was mute. We should have been all over each other in the hotel, right? I mean, it was our first weekend away together. We shouldn't have been able to keep our hands off each other! (Sorry for the graphic details, Mom.) But there was nothing at all. (Actually, never mind, Mom. There are no graphic details.) Nothing! Nada! Zilch! And he was totally okay with that, I found out later. The only time he seemed genuinely excited was while the roller coasters were in motion. The entire weekend, I LONGED for someone to get excited with, to joke around with, to sing with, to be silly with, to be passionate with. I felt like there was a little kid inside me, screaming to get out. Constantly. We were lacking, and it was getting more painfully clear with each long sleepless minute, punctuated by his bear-like snoring, that passed.

I ended things a few days after we returned. And I was honest about my reasons, which still surprises me. In the past, I've done all I could to assuage and mitigate the pain and discomfort of breakups. I've sugar-coated. I've tiptoed around the truth. But I told Luke I realized that there were things I needed in a relationship that I didn't get from him. I needed laughter. I needed highs and lows. I needed passion. He was gracious and understanding, which I will forever be thankful for.

Enter Timothy. Timothy was everything that Luke was not. Timothy, in point of fact, was everything I swore I would never want in a partner. Timothy was twice married (to women). Timothy is bisexual. Timothy has four children. Timothy isn't out to any of his kids. He comes from a troubled background, has a small apartment, and has a blue-collar job; he isn't close to his family; he is a short skinny hipster type. But we connected, surprisingly. We laughed together. We teased each other. We both enjoyed creating things, eating good foods, and being outdoors. Although we never defined our relationship, and I've told him honestly that I want to be able to date, we were definitely hanging out a lot. He told me on a couple occasions that he would be okay with our calling each other "boyfriend." He talked about wanting a future with someone, a house, even marriage at some point. He said he didn't see himself dating women anymore. He said he wasn't looking for anyone else. But there was always something that kept me from getting closer to him emotionally...

A couple weeks ago, still in the midst of hanging out with Timothy, I got a message on OKCupid from Andrew. Since I had been hanging out with Timothy, I hadn't been logging on to OKCupid. It had gotten to the point on there, anyway, where I was seeing all the same faces all the time. I had no expectations from that website, so I stopped looking on it. The message from Andrew took me by complete surprise. He was witty and charming. And he was handsome, with beautifully expressive eyes and a great smile. I emailed him back, and we started a correspondence that has many times left me speechless with awe, wonder, and joy. We met each other about a week later. To make things easy and informal, we had a "pajama date" at Paradise Bakery. We each wore gym shorts, a t-shirt, a baseball cap, and flip-flops. (You know a person who is willing to meet you for the first time in pajamas is quality, right?!) We sat there and talked for three and a half hours. There was an almost immediate ease and comfort between us. We laughed, joked around, and teased, yes, but we also talked about goals and dreams and our pasts. Deep things coupled with light things. By the end of the date, our knees were touching lightly under the table.

I left feeling like a giddy, giggly, child. But I also felt a deep, peaceful warmth as a slow smile pulled the corners of my mouth toward my ears. I hate to say it, but I was hooked from the get-go. The text message I sent my sister after I left, "OMG. That is all I can say," sums up my feelings perfectly. Andrew's and my text messages to each other throughout that day reflect the crazy and unexpected things we were feeling for each other.

Two days later, we went on a second date to see Far From the Madding Crowd. It was equally amazing, especially when, sitting in the darkened movie theater, our fingers crept, snail-like, closer and closer until they finally slid between each other and linked. Both our eyes drifted away from the movie screen and gazed down at our enjoined hands like we were seeing ourselves holding hands with someone for the first time...

BUT JUSTIN, WHAT ABOUT YOUR MANTRA?!?! WHAT ABOUT TAKING THINGS SLOWLY? HOW CAN YOU LET YOUR KNEES TOUCH ON THE FIRST DATE AND HOLD HANDS ON THE SECOND DATE?! Shhh. Calm down. I know. I know that "they stumble that run fast." But I also know that it is only through being vulnerable that we can reap life's greatest rewards. Don't think I was not terrified to allow my knee touch his. As thrilled as I was holding his hand, don't think I wasn't also thinking, what the hell are you doing? But I've decided to go with my gut, to follow my heart.

The next day, I went to his house for dinner and to watch a movie. After the movie, nuzzled together on the couch, we kissed for the first time. To say that there were fireworks is dramatic and Hollywood-esque. But it's also true. I felt like my insides were exploding in the most amazing way. Although we both kept ourselves in check--sorry, no graphic details here, either--we both implicitly knew that the passion was there, that were we to unleash what we were both keeping chained up and locked behind a door, the fireworks would turn into atom bombs. We didn't need to say it (although we have both alluded to it since then). The silent, stupid grins on our faces communicated everything we needed to know.

With every single person I've met there have been red flags. They can be glaring or subtle, but they are always there. Continuing to date someone becomes a question of, "Do the things I like about this person outweigh the things I don't like/am uncomfortable with/don't agree with/etc.?" This is going to sound incredible, but I am being 100% honest: I've never had any red flag moments with Andrew. None at all. I've yet to cringe inwardly at something he has said. There are, so far, no personality quirks that bug me. There is nothing in the way he lives his life that worries me or causes me to pause and internally grimace. Well, I guess there is one thing, and I suppose it is pretty major: Andrew is entering his fourth year of medical school. This means that he will be applying for residencies soon that could conceivably send him anywhere in the country for three years or more.

As I wrap up this ridiculously long post, let me say this: I have never seen myself as an especially attractive person physically. To this day, catching myself in a mirror somewhere fills my stomach with a sort of mild visceral disgust. Whenever people compliment me physically, I question, at best, their motives and, at worst, their sanity. Andrew says the most wonderful things to me, says things that make my heart do flippy-flops. I told him the other day, "Truth speaking is good when I'm doing it, but not so much when I'm hearing it...You're the first person I've actually wanted to believe though." Last night on the phone--yes, we have real conversations on the phone!--he said to me, "You said that I make you want to believe the things I say, but you are the first person I've actually believed." Call it infatuation. Call it puppy love. Call it a crush. Maybe it will last a few months. Maybe we'll be together for a few years. Maybe we'll get married and spend the rest of our lives together. It doesn't matter, really. It doesn't matter because I feel more alive now, alive because of the lessons I've learned over the past couple years, alive because I am allowing myself not only to feel what I am feeling but to authentically communicate those feelings despite the fear in doing so, than I ever have before. It's not just my brain that feels alive, like with Luke. It's not just my groin that feels alive, like with so many others. My heart is alive. And that life radiates outward into every other area of my being, mental, spiritual, and physical. Being vulnerable is terrifying whether I'm being vulnerable with myself (which is SO very important!!) or with someone else. But, damn, the rewards are incredible, even if the relationship ultimately ends, as it did with Luke, or doesn't progress past a great friendship, like with Timothy.

Hmm. Maybe I do have something to write about on here now...