The Hand We're Dealt

The bad thing about life is that (if you're the type like myself) your own happiness is dependent upon the happiness of others. You shoulder the burdens of the world--or at least those close to you in your world--and you can't help but feel down when those you care for are also struggling. You're a little too sensitive, a tornado of emotions from one day to the next, depending on the external environment of which you are immersed--whether you want to be or not. You live with passion.

I've lost my passion.

The truth is, I've never been passionate about one thing in particular except love. When it comes to love, I am too much like my father, jumping in with all I've got, always optimistic that someone out there is just like myself. I'm not the cautious type who believes in "taking things slow," nor have I ever been afraid of commitment. Quite the contrary, I always believed in and wanted to be committed to one person for the duration of my lifetime. Some say it's a childish love that fades, but I was always more of the Juliet type who wanted to go to the ends of the Earth for my Romeo. Several boyfriends later and I eventually settled for a toad who I barely want to cook supper for.

What the hell am I talking about, anyway?

It's no secret I've kept in touch with my ex-fiance/soulmate/high school sweetheart (yes, that's all one and the same). We're distant now, but the love never fades between us. We can always talk cordially about anything and everything. I try to make myself I hate him because I know "too much" about him these days and I'm convinced I could never be with someone "like that." I am better than that...better than him. But dammit, deep down, I cannot deny how much I LOVE him.

Chris sent me a text on my birthday (Feb. 6th), despite the fact I was supposed to meet him back in January when I moved in with my dad--but stood him up. I texted him last Saturday at 2 a.m. because, in a moment of despair, I still felt closer to him than anyone else in my world. I wanted to be close to him; wanted to see him so bad at that moment, just to hear his voice and feel his arms around me. He extended an open invitation to get together sometime, so I called him this morning when I had a couple of hours before class (after my chiropractor appointment).

We talked on the phone as I drove around aimlessly, and it was just so damn good to hear his voice, even though in the back of my mind I just don't want to be with him. Strangely, it has virtually nothing to do with me being married, though I still take vows seriously. We just live two completely different lifestyles and I don't think we could ever satisfy each other's different needs these days. I am a neat freak; his house freaks me out. I like to cook; he lives on McDonald's. I have a diverse array of refined interests; his interests are bowling, beer, and boobs. I minor in Gender Studies; he's always studying the other gender.

I want what we had more than anything in this world. I want us to be what we were and grow together rather than diverge into what we've become. In fact, I question whether I even know who he is nowadays.

But the good times we shared still make me smile, which is where the passion comes in. I'm resistent to becoming too passionate about any thing these days because I never know when it will fade, disappear, or alter in such a way that it is unrecognizable to me. I miss the optimism of youth; of loving full force with such passion.