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Scott and I are learning salsa while we're here (ok, so far one lesson), but lately we've actually been doing the tango. Cautious steps. We pace the floor, each watching the other. Sometimes frightened, sometimes thrilled by the task at hand. Trying to rebuild our embrace starting from the feet, the legs, the bellies, the hands--the floor between us. I've learned at least a couple things here. One is that my partner doesn't exist to make me happy. Second is that he isn't the one to make me unhappy either. I do those two things for myself.
Well, with that realization, I've essentially dropped out of years of social conditioning and any support and advice that goes with it. I feel wild and free, and I toss my hair about and do a little jig, and then turn back to see Scott still standing there. Oh yeah, the most adorable person in my world. Hello.
Now what? I now know I'm not going to fall without you (well, because I trust my own strength), and I know I'm not going to soar necessarily because of you either (I trust my own wide, happy soul). So we're to come together in an all-new embrace. A strong, passionate dance, me with bright red lipstick and a turquoise pantsuit, and you with dark curls and a tight black knit shirt. Leaving time at the end of the dance for soft words and gentle caresses and sometimes even some tears and fears. But wimpering in the arms of your lover isn't all that romantic and not nearly as joyful as they made it out to be. In fact, ask any of those characters who drip into puddles without the arm and heart of their man whether they actually ENJOY that. Enjoy feeling helpless and dependant. No, it's much more fun to turn on music, light candles, and dance alone because that's what you enjoy rather than hoping he'll sense that need and do it for you. No, it's much more fun to pick yourself up off the floor, blow your own nose, and treat yourself to a walk with fresh spring air and magnolia trees rather than waiting around under the table for him to see you there. No, it's decidedly much more fun to love living my life, to deal with my own demons, and to find joy in all of it rather than waiting around for him to do it for me. I might as well exhale 'cause that ain't gonna happen. What's more, he'd enjoy my dance much more if he could see that I was making the effort to pick up my feet and take the steps. Stumble still, sure. Twist my ankle now and then, okay. But I'm making that dance, and making it my own. A few weeks ago, I sat eating with Jinsoon at the Green World, talking about these very things, and smiling at a young boy making laps around the restaurant. Jinsoon said relationships are like the mother watching her wandering toddler. The child doesn't want to be picked up, coddled, and carressed all the time. He wants to be free to patter about, exploring, experimenting. The mother lets him and goes about her own life--but watching. She's always watching to see if he needs her. And because the child can feel the loving glances and watchful care, he feels at peace and at ease. And free. And, of course, the cuddling will come later, I think--after the meal and the bath and the story and the prayer. So Scott and I are inventors. This relationship and this dance (this moment, this day, this life) aren't what HAPPEN to us. We're making this up as we go along. So yesterday some toes got stepped on. Today we kiss the bruises, laugh at ourselves, and keep dancing. Girls' Choice Dance, ck [2003-04-09]
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