When I peruse a menu, I go through a formulaic process. First, I discard any options with the word “mushrooms”. Family tradition not to eat them, and there are some weird traditions I like to carry on, despite a lack of logic. Second, I look for words that arouse: “balsamic”, “honey”, “fried dough”, etc. Next, I narrow down my options to three – three dishes that would leave my mind and stomach pulsing with pleasure. I ask the waiter what they recommend between the three, and then, regardless of what the waiter said, I choose. It’s as if someone gives me a golden envelope with an immaculate choice – there’s no wavering, no stumbling to indecision. I just know.
I always imagined kind of a similar process for my dating life. But I’ve gotten to that point where I’m just supposed to know, and there’s a deafening silence where conviction is supposed to live. They say people’s personalities change entirely every seven years, and I am tasked with choosing a partner for all of my next eight personalities. Seems unreasonable, no? And yet, it’s the most important decision I’ll ever make. So the fundamental choice I have now lies in what kind of life I want to lead – should it be fun and light and easy, with perhaps less depth, or should it be full of meaning and respect and kindness, with less silliness? And is it strange that I have to choose? What will each of my eight personalities think, and do I simply side with the majority?
The answer, of course, is bifocals. I’m getting old. But also, I need the ability to see what is near and what is far ahead, and how the two could interact. Right now, everything appears blurry and distorted. But if I had bifocals, I would just know. I would have the same conviction I have with a meal. Perhaps I just haven’t seen my balsamic honey glazed fried dough yet. Perhaps in the midst of all the food, where all the other food blends in with one another, looking like obscure Impressionist dots, perhaps right in the middle of that, I would see fried dough with refreshing clarity.
My heart hurts, and I don’t think it has to do with him specifically. I think I just realized I lost a connection. And I feel myself panicking, my heart rate quickening, my breath shallow, my chest tight, and my head feels as if it’s swelling with hot liquid. And I’m tired. Tired of congratulating myself for being brave and walking away and not settling for good when everyone else does, tired of thinking about the emotional swings in the coming weeks, and positively exhausted thinking about all the dating that will follow, and all the stretched smiles I’ll have to flash throughout them. It’s funny – every time I go through one of these, it’s like it’s the very first time – like I’ve completely forgotten what it’s like. What convenient amnesia.
wrapmeinbacon 