The problem is that I have two hands

On one hand...

Like the band The Darkness, I believe in a thing called love. I believe in connection and cathexis and the life-altering power of vulnerability. I do think, ultimately, that people want to belong and give of themselves to another person (or people) and to feel safe and secure and known while continuing to grow and realize their own potential and human-ness. Quoting Cheryl Strayed, I believe that "the best thing we can do with our life is to tackle the motherfucking shit out of love." I think love--in all its forms, not just romantic--is the ultimate goal of this brief, fleeting moment of time any of us have on our visit to the universe. Loving our parents and children, siblings, friends, community, pets, and, yes, any and all of our lovers, is what gives meaning to our existence. I am way past the point of believing in soulmates or the naive concept of "the one," but I do believe that when/if we are lucky enough to find someone(s) with whom there is that tricky, elusive combination of friendship, respect, and the desire to rip each other's clothes off, that we should take it. We'd be stupid not to, because, I think, the opportunity is rare despite the vast number of people on the planet.

On the other hand...

How can I start something new? It has only been two months since I had my heart broken. I care less about the physical time that has (or has not) passed--though I do harbor a fear that my friends, whom I know want nothing but happiness for me, will not-so-secretly judge me for not being single long enough--but am more skittish about the emotional time.

Put simply, I'm terrified. And rightfully so.

Terrified of getting hurt, again. Terrified that, once again, the rug will get pulled out from underneath me. Terrified, too, of possibly hurting him, remembering all too well the emotional and physical pain caused by heartache. Terrified that if/once we make it real instead of this casual, semi-guarded, loosey-goosey-but-respectful thing we were doing--what we both went into it thinking it would remain--it will get ruined and that maybe the smarter thing is to avoid that entirely.

I'm terrified that I have lost my own ability to judge intention or character on the part of a potential romantic partner and thus have become skeptical, suspicious, and cynical as means to survive.

I'm terrified that we'll choose to fall in love. I'm just as terrified that we won't.  

But on the one hand...

I know that he made my insides feel melty the first time he called me beautiful. I know that even though the odds are always sort of stacked against it, he easily clears my dealbreakers: he is an atheist, lefty liberal, pro-feminist ally who is brilliant, communicative, (really) good in bed, willing to dance, who doesn't want kids, in addition to being honest, kind, thoughtful, romantic, effusive, athletic, musical, charming, playful, flirtatious, affectionate, attentive, emotionally aware, social, introverted, sarcastic, and snarky, with dimples you can drown in. Though he's a wee shorter than my "type" usually is, and opts for contacts instead of glasses, when he cooks me breakfast wearing nothing but pajama bottoms, I think DAY-um: a faded, golden tan + a weekly weight lifting regimen + the just-right amount of chest hair = hello, I'll take some of that, pleaseandthankyou. (It's not quite like this scene from Crazy, Stupid, Love., but close enough.) He's a frat boy with a brain in his head, an accomplished poetry scholar who also won two of his fantasy baseball leagues. He references Judith Butler and William Butler Yeats alongside Lebowski and The League. Whether it's his general demeanor or the fact that he, like I, is a member of the Scarlet D-for-Divorce club, he embraces the balance needed between intimacy and independence, effort and ease. He's not perfect--who is, duh--and there are things I'd tweak if I were manufacturing him in a laboratory, but on the whole? A+

And he is, by his admission, helplessly enamored with me.

But on the other hand...

Sadly or smartly, I can no longer suspend disbelief about relationships. This thing we're starting to do will, statistically and logically speaking, end. Because most relationships do. Even the ones that feel so naturally, scarily right to start. (Think about it: if you date 9 people--casually or seriously, as an idiot teenager or mature adult--before you meet your lifepartner, 90% of them end. And 9 strikes me as low if you consider starting in high school and not getting married (statistically) until your late 20s or 30s.) Add to that the fact that he is very actively on the job market--I am too, but much less earnestly given the nature of our respective employment statuses--and the likelihood of it ending increases with every job application he sends out. (Current count, near 20.) Sure, people do long distance, but hey...how'd that work out for me last time? I do, fully, believe "tis better to have loved and lost," but good grief, isn't enough enough at some point? Factor in that his one hesitation to starting something--a  hesitation that has passed, but still--is identical to one of the reasons ExBF gave for ending things, and this strikes me as particularly ill-advised. It sort of boils down to what is the point, really?

Much worse, I also don't really know how to be in a romantic relationship in which the emotional dedication and desire (the burgeoning love?) is this freely given. You mean...I don't have to work for it? I didn't have to ask or "do" anything besides be myself? As one of my best friends puts it: I have a hard time working with the idea that I don't have to earn it. The rather complicated situation I found myself in allowed myself to be in prior to the most recent ExBF--an exercise in emotional masochism if there ever was one--involved a man who told me "someday. Someday. Someday." But someday never came. With this new person, "someday" came on his own volition--not only did I not ask for it, I most assuredly informed him that I was fine with the aforementioned casual, semi-guarded, loosey-goosey-but-respectful thing we were doing. And I was. Sure, there was one, small detail on his end that made it a bit more complicated than it possibly could have been, but he fixed that. All by himself. He fixed that all by himself, without my asking. He fixed that all by himself, without my asking, because of his overwhelming desire to be with me.

What the fuck?

As someone who studies literary interpretation for a living, I feel wholly unfamiliar with this narrative. I finally learned the hard way to believe people when they tell me things like "I cannot be with you." I have been socialized--unfairly, sure, and with a heavy dose of sexism--to believe that if a man doesn't have to buy the proverbial cow if he's getting the proverbial milk for free that he won't. (This is not a judgment on "buying" v. not "buying," btw. I was happily "giving up the milk." Also, this metaphor is offensive on several levels.) Far, far more distressingly and psychologically disturbingly, I came to the awful realization that I have almost always loved harder than I got loved. 

And yet, at this very minute, I have more walls up than he does. I was the one gently questioned for seeming less-than-mutually "into it" in terms of words and actions. I was the one told "let me in as much as you can, of course, and until you do, I'll be steadily there." He was the one who said "I'm all in," while cupping my face in his hands, our foreheads and noses touching. When I told him "I don't know how to do it this way," he assured me, "you'll get used to it."

But will I? Should I? Can I get out of my own way, relax, enjoy this for what it is, and let it evolve from relationship lite to something more long term/profound should that naturally happen? Or will my tragic flaw of overthinking everything ruin it? Should I take this opportunity for self-exploration and growth with regard to romantic pairings? Or will I, like the plot of every Greek tragedy, fulfill my own prophecies--despite desperately attempting to avoid them--by pushing away too much, too often, because, unconsciously, I would rather be right?

With regard to all of this, my therapist said "it's better to be scared than frozen."

I guess I'm lucky he makes me melt.