Last night a new, old love. But a little more of that later.
A beautiful musician invited me to her concert in New York. My heart was tickled. Not that anything would happen, but for my ego fresh from the blender, that is a nice blanket for the wounded.
She and others can't wait for me to move there. I have never felt so welcome by a city with such a harsh reputation.
I am loving my new clothes. My new woolen coat, something I've always wanted. A black woolen coat that kept me warm without hiding my body. I am shooting for bright colors, however, which is why I bought a green down coat last month even though winter is nearly over. And anything red, like my umbrella and a new shirt. I am trying to learn what my personal fashion is, definitely a new step in the new direction of self-love. I can't help but copying fashion from male models on magazines and on the Internet, but I need something to start from. It is becoming an art for me, like my daily drawing on the way home. The difference is that this art has everything to do with my identity, my self-discovery.
I owe part of this direction to my art friend, but even more so to the girl I had to say goodbye to two nights ago. It was terrible how she couldn't accept me for how I dressed, but at the same time, her provocation made me realize I didn't know myself enough to know what colors would go well on me, what style and combinations would help me express my identity the most. So far, it has been a beautiful experience to try and figure out how to bring out the inner beauty in me. When I decided on an impromptu shopping visit to the clothing stores in Midtown before my Sunday milonga last weekend, I got excited, and it was a great experience discovering ideas. For example, while I want bright colors because I don't want to hide myself in black and gray, I also know that certain kinds of brown brings out my eye color, and my eyes was the first body part I remember loving when I first started to appreciate my body that didn't look like the conventional white man's?
I mentioned that girl, the one that left me and would never talk to me again unless I meet her terms of being just friends. The whole fashion thing is an example of one of the strange dynamics we have. She had a way of making me feel bad about really superficial things like looks. But then, whether she intended or not, often her complaints provoked me to think deeper about myself. Often they led to very positive changes, positive in making me ultimately happy. I miss her, though it shouldn't be surprising since she left me only two nights ago (on the phone!). While I am still angry at her for not trying to figure out some new and creative ways to interact besides her narrow dictum of a "friendship", I miss her in a loving way that I hope will allow me to smile at her next time I see her (we both dance in the same milongas). The smile wouldn't be for anything to change between us, not to convince her to talk to me without her winning her terms; the smile would be for me, for me to move on, leave my anger and hatred behind, and go forward with my love for life.
To both her and the previous woman I tried to explain something really important about what I think a partner is for. Not someone to save you from loneliness, but rather, someone to discover new connections with. Constantly. No boundaries, or discover those personal boundaries together and even help the other push beyond those boundaries. Sure, I'd love to have someone to spend Friday night with, just as well as being seduced, playing the romance game. But the glue that holds the two together, the amazing feeling that helps the bond overcome all obstacles, is this partnership for connection. When I told this to both women, they gave me blank look like I was speaking Martian. Perhaps that was the clearest sign that they weren't for me.
That's all old stuff, even old love. A strange old love rose in my heart last night. Or was it new? For some reason, last night and even today, I felt great! Very happy, very enthusiastic about life, about living. I felt loving to everything around me. I don't know what drug I inadvertently ate, but I felt great. And in my euphoria I realized something. I have complained about leaving this little town with so much sorrow, a bad way to end this long chapter here. But didn't I have control over how I leave? Couldn't I choose to leave with joy?
So I did something I didn't expect at all. I actually went to the Tuesday night milonga, knowing that the people I usually danced with weren't going to be there. That include that girl that wouldn't talk to me unconditionally. I didn't go because of their absence; I would have been happy to see all of them, even her. But I went in spite of their absence. I went because I wanted to spend some time with this city that deserved less of my bitterness and more of my warmth. I went with the same attitude I usually had for going to a milonga to dance, not just to achieve the best dances. So I put on my nice hoodie, my favorite jacket, and most importantly my nicest smile. And when I got there, yes, I was apprehensive, a little, to see her there, but also a little hopeful. I wanted to give her a smile, to show myself that at least for a moment, I could walk past her giant, cold walls and not build mine in the front. For a moment, my walls were not there. Still, when I didn't see her there, I was fine. I danced with these beginners I rarely danced with, and I had a great time, and even a greater time seeing their smiles, their appreciation of my invitation to dance and doing my best to make the dance beautiful.
And when I wasn't dancing, I talked to the people. They miss me, it seems. One guy, a great womanizer, used his charms to tell me how I was killing the tango community by moving to New York, devastating the women of the entire state of Connecticut. I thought he was silly, but it helped me feel closer to this city. I talked to the only real male friend I have in this town, finally paid him back for what he spent on feeding me when I was sick with food poisoning. And we chatted. I invited him to stay at my new New York apartment once I move there. I have never invited a man over before, not even male partners of my sisters.
And so that was what I have decided, not only about the city, but about life. I am putting up too many walls, especially in reaction to others putting up their walls. I think it is never the end of the world to put down your defenses, at least not in the safety of the developed world. I always have a choice to be closer to something or someone, or not. At least for this city, I choose to be closer, to care about it more, to leave it with a sense of joy, even gratitude.
Was this new love or old? Not sure.
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