In Sex And The City, week after week we watched as Carrie Bradshaw hung her love life out on the public clothesline in New York. This is fine and dandy until you think of the logistics of that. In one episode they showed Alexandr Petrovsky quoting one of her articles, and, of course, the peeing politician mentioned that his people had issues with his personal life being displayed, but there's not much mention of anyone else she dated reading them at the time she was dealing with them. How does one write publically about the juicy stuff in one's life without having the writing of it influence the outcome? It almost seems like Mr. Big was completely oblivious to the articles, or just didn't care enough to read them, otherwise how would he not have split with her neurotic drama from early on? I mean, c'mon! Carrie is already a bit irritating! Having her write all of your intimate details for New York to fawn over, why deal with it? I ponder these things, hoping that I am a bit more endearing, and that the men in my life will continue to put up with me, even if I write about them.
A few weeks ago, when I tested a theory I had of my ability to write well while becoming intoxicated, which I failed miserably, I introduced Mr. X.
And now I sit, staring at the screen, not knowing where to go from here. Whatever thoughts and feelings I put down may be taken wrong by a few parties concerned. In my quest for a healthy way of dealing with relationships and honesty with myself, I have decided to forge the breach, if only I could figure out how.
Mr. X is one of my closest, dearest friends. He is a man that I met years ago on one of the dating sites I was on, one that was based on being of the same culture. We got along well from the start, but lived across the country from each other. Neither of us was willing to consider moving, a dealbreaker we figured out early on. As we respected each other, and got along so well, we kept in touch as friends. When I was last in New York, we had the chance to meet in person, and had a great, although fast and furious time at the MoMA. The outing left me knowing that he was an absolutely amazing single Greek man. I had found the Holy Grail. As Greek women are bound to do, I decided to try and match him up with one of my best friends, Persephone.
Persie is an amazing artist, adorable, and absolutely willing to move. She also has an impetuous desire for fun and adventure, and does not have the best judgement when she's drunk. Persie and Mr. X get along really well, though there is a comfort level that he and I have obtained that they haven't quite come to yet. It also turns out that I'm not that great of a matchmaker. Persie and Mr. X are not a match primarily for logistical reasons. Mr. X is needing his bride to be previously unmarried, while Persie has been divorced. Though it seems like an unusual requirement in this day and age, the reason for it, I assure you, is a good one. At this point, though, I fear that Persie has developed strong feelings for him. I can't blame her, he's amazing. Who wouldn't? And he, being the definition of extraordinary, completely cares for her heart, and her soul, just as he does for mine, and anyone lucky enough to come into contact with him.
Being one of my closest friends, he's been privy to the rollercoaster that is my dating life. He knows my blunders and my men troubles. And he's sat there, with a strong shoulder, not judging, but nudging me to do the right things.
Knowing about my recent breakups and hardships, Mr. X recently invited me to join him on a trip for a painting workshop, an interest we both are passionate about. Ever the gentleman, he offered to take care of me, just so that we both could get away and have a good time together. And no matter how I try and write about it, and make a point of how great a friend he is, it becomes clear that this gesture of friendship really touched my heart, differently than anyone has. It's not that he offered to help pay. While most women thrive on the thought that men value them enough to pay for them, I have a hard time with it. I don't want to be bought. This way there is no doubt why I value someone.
Something about the invitation from Mr. X brought tears to my eyes. I'm a spunky, independent, brassy, strong woman. Most guys I date either want to make me vulnerable, or need someone to take care of them. Mr. X, on the other hand, wanted to share an experience he is passionate about with me, and was willing to go to long lengths to do so. He wanted to take care of me to keep me strong, not to make me weak. And this is where writing publically scares me, because I have to admit that the one grand gesture of friendship has sparked feelings that I have been fighting for a long time. I've had to recognize that in my realm of friends, there has been a true, honest, loving man that I have been pushing away for fear of leaving the nest and building a life of my own. And now I'm in an awkward place, between my friendship, and these fledgeling feelings that I hope subside somehow. Mr. X has his world that he is living in, and is trying to find a match in that world, and I am confused, alone, and probably just in a weird spot, trying not to read anything into a very generous offer of kindness.
There is a possibility that I may be able to see him in person again the week after next, if the stars align, the muffins rise, Lindsay Lohan stays sober, whatever. If that happens, I'm sure that everything will be as normal, and our friendship will override whatever awkward emotions this whole thing has brought to light. Because if things remain confusing, then I have to figure out how the hell I'm supposed to talk to Persephone about all of this, when I haven't even been able to tell her about the initial invitation in the first place.
No comments:
Post a Comment