Wednesday, August 4, 2010

I'll Have a Danish, Please...

I have just been noticing lately that one of the hardest questions for me to answer is, “How do you feel?” On the flipside, one of the easiest for me is, “What do you think?”

Isn’t that interesting?

I am starting to realize how I have shut down the feeling part of me for a long time, and now every single time I get asked how I feel and I want to answer as genuinely as possible, I retort with a shrug. I’m not being sassy or smart. I tell the truth when I say I don’t know.

They say the antidote for trauma for someone who almost drowned is for that person to get back in the water and start swimming again. It must be true then that there is no other way to get back in touch with “feelings” (why does that word still make me cringe?) by delving into them, inviting them in for tea and having intimate conversations with them. And so I am.

I’m just going to come out and say it instead of hiding it underneath confetti and cotton candy.

I met someone.

Don’t roll your eyes and please put that raised eyebrow down because I know what you are thinking. Again, right?! Trust me, I have been asking myself how such strong connections are possible with an abundance of people, too. But this is what someone told me: If I were a guy, will there even be any questions or judgments? None. So shut up. :)

But here is what’s different about this one: there’s a sense of instant knowingness and disarming naturalness about this one. From the first millisecond, with very few words, I felt like I knew everything I needed to know, and vice versa. It’s astounding how much one can pick up with just observing and watching if one is just present. Presence meets presence. I did not have to articulate who I was, am, have become and still becoming. I exude my I-ness and this person saw it, I cannot believe it. This person stole my spiel out of my own mouth. He sees it perfectly, 20/20. It’s not this cerebral thing, either, the way it is sometimes with The Italian, but rather a more intuitive thing (notice that I use the word “thing” to substitute for something I have not have a word for. Poetic license, y’all.).

I never imagined how beautiful it would feel to have someone see you the way you see yourself. This person sees not only the miniscule details but the amalgamation of the parts that make the whole - the rainy days and happy days, the sunshines and snowstorms, the death and resurrection of it all. It feels ridiculously good. In the last twelve months, of all the people I have been acquainted with, I have not met anyone whose balls, sincerity, and fearlessness match this one’s. Best of all, this one gives me access to that in me who feels (as opposed to the one who just thinks), and that in me who does not judge those feelings as aye or nay. Feelings, after all, are not a faculty of the mind. And an even more exciting thing (which I believe is true about humans, not just this particular person) is that I truly believe that the only way this person can pick up on my I-ness if he is firmly rooted in his own I-ness. It only takes one to know one. If you don’t have it, there is no way in heck you can spot it.

There are people who think about happiness. There are people who talk about it. But then there are the rare and fortunate few who just are happy, like it’s embedded in their DNA code or something. They dwell so much in it that it’s literally laughable to think or talk about happiness. He’s one of those.

Okay. I better stop now lest I start drooling.

Aaaah… I think I am going to throw myself a homecoming party. This is amazing (well, terrifying but amazing nonetheless).

Ten cartwheels today. Five for me. Five for Denmark.

No comments:

Post a Comment