Juggling Act

#Romance is so enticing; we yearn for it. Even the best of us have been known to sneak in a Lifetime movie now and again. I, myself, rarely fantasize. I've never imagined being picked up in a town-car, driven to buy a fantastic and ultra stylish suit on Madison Avenue and then brought (in said suit) to a romantic bistro or rooftop restaurant overlooking the Hudson to eat oysters and gourmet cuisine, and then brought into said town-car to a private helicopter ride around the island, where I would sip champagne and be handed roses, culminating after landing with a drive, no longer in his town-car, but in his private Audi or convertible something or another, listening to the most amazing music, driven for drinks at some swanky lounge, and then finally, to his private penthouse apartment or brownstone or yacht, where the passionate night would continue, only to end with breakfast in bed... Alright, I may have thought about it once or twice. Maybe.

It's nice to whisk someone off of their feet, especially when you don't even know you're doing it. And it's just as nice, maybe nicer, to be whisked off your own feet. And as nice as the above fantasy sounds, sometimes it's the little things that go underestimated and unnoticed. Have we become so saturated with images of Mr. Big and other studs that we've forgotten the reality of the day-to-day? Do we expect perfection... in every which way: looks? Financial stability and excess? Spiritual and mental fortitude? Self-awareness and security? Have our expectations surpassed what's realistic for the 99% in exchange for holding out for a Mr. Robert Redford in Indecent Proposal? Insert extremely long diatribe about The Ex here.

Luckily, I've been in such shitty relationships that a circus clown could look to me. Even luckier, T is nowhere near to a circus clown. So on Thursday night when I called him to confirm our plans to meet on Friday, I was pleasantly surprised. I asked over text if he and I could speak on my house phone - an ominous text to receive I would imagine. Of course he said sure, and so, when I finally did call, I was a bit surprised at first: he was somewhere... a bar? Somewhere loud. But what surprised me more was, unlike previous partners, he actually stopped what he was doing to step out into a quiet spot to talk. T: 1. Exes: 0.

Without having to really delve into, he explained to me what was going on... having a post-work cocktail with coworkers. T: 2. Exes: 0. I asked what we wanted to do the next day. His reply? Don't worry. I've got it covered.

Beg your pardon?

He had it covered. What did that mean? What does that mean? How does one have what covered? This was relatively foreign to me. He went on: we would meet up according to my schedule. When I asked what he meant, he explained that if I needed to go home after work and rest, we could meet up later on. If I wanted to meet him immediately after work, we could do that, too. I should preface, before I go on, that he does have a life of his own and he wasn't giving up his time out of desperation: he simply had off, had the time, and, well, what? Wanted to... make me happy? My mind was abuzz, aghast, absolutely stunned... what did it all mean? I had to talk it through: "So, what does this all mean? I can meet you whenever?"

His words? "It's all about what you want."

DING, DING, DING! T: 20 points. The Exes? 0. The Ex himself, Diablo incarnate (insert excessively long diatribe about The Ex while referencing The Exorcist, Friday the 13th, Saw, and Child's Play)? Well... he has a -13. Or was it -666? I digress.

As a smile crept across my face, and like a schoolgirl talking to her first crush, I smothered my smile as best I could and elected to play upon the cool of TLC's Crazy, Sexy, Cool album. So, I asked him what we would do? It was a surprise, he said. He didn't want to reveal much, but he said it would entail dinner and drinks.

The next evening couldn't come fast enough. Listening to the Think Like a Man soundtrack, I drove into Chelsea to meet him. We would have dinner at a small, Italian bistro with brick walls, several types of pasta, and of course, wine. Timing is everything, they say and two moments after I entered the restaurant, he followed in. I turned, saw him standing there, and kissed him.

Though I was tired from an exhausting week, the conversation still flowed, with a few moments of comfortable silence. He ate pasta. I ate lobster with pasta. I sipped wine and we, goofy as could be, stared into each others eyes. We continued the night with a drink here and a margarita there, only to end at the Clearview Cinema on 23rd where we watched in literary fascination and nerdy unison the film version of The Perks of Being a Wallflower. He had borrowed my copy the previous weekend and had already finished reading it. Watching Charlie negotiate his inner monologue, we negotiated how to lean upon one another without giving ourselves or each other a neck cramp.

As we left, we debated the ultimate question: whose place? Yours? Mine? We chose mine and ended up there 20 minutes later (have to love nighttime traffic in the City - there wasn't any). The next morning, after an evening of cuddling in bed, we awoke and fell asleep and awoke and fell asleep and talked, and talked some more, and talked some more, and... well, let's keep some things private. After all, this is the internet. In short, we spent the day in bed... learning each other. We finally made a plan: we would go for breakfast (yours truly was craving chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream and high fructose corn syrup posing as maple syrup). Breakfast at 3 pm? Yep. We sure did.

Here's the thing with romance: it sneaks up on you. You don't know when it will infiltrate your life, but when it does, it is like a drug. Addictive. When you meet someone with whom you click... with whom there isn't any pretense... with whom you can be yourself... talk about science fiction, watch Netflix in bed, talk books, writing, have sexual chemistry, and have a mutual love of food, and of course, share your histories, your pain, yourselves... yowzah! I laid in bed, felt relaxed, and really, felt like I could lay there forever without a care.

Our plan was to eat and then part ways. The beautiful thing about romance is also the downfall, perhaps. Now - my history? My history would show that I have had a tendency to make poor choices in the name of love. Giving of myself, all of myself, to the person with whom I am convincing myself will lead to love or with whom I had convinced myself I was in #love already (not to invalidate my previous experiences, but I know what love is, and a lot of what I've had has not been love: think of it as asking for bacon and getting turkey bacon or asking for a juicy, meaty hamburger, and being handed a veggie burger... or asking for a ripe and fresh piece of fruit and being handed a moldy banana...). In any case, the day, the night previous, had been so subtle yet so concrete in its amazement, that I wanted, like an addictive drug, more.

And after the meal? Picture Thanksgiving. I was wiped out. Why don't we go back to my place, watch a movie, and then you can go home. I'll do work for work after, because, after all, that's all I seem to do: work. Work. Work.

Now, despite my best intentions, when we awoke to the end of our movie in bed, I didn't want to leave his side. I didn't want to call it a night yet. I convinced myself it was okay, quickly, and we made plans to go see Paranormal Activity 4.

After dessert and wine outside at a well-done corporate rendition of an Italian ristorante, we saw our movie. Again, not calling it quits, whose place was posed and again we ended back at mine for a second evening of cuddling. Only this time, I didn't sleep so well.

Whether it was the air conditioner, the insurmountable amount of stuff I had to get done for life, or the work I had to do for work, I was equally tired and anxious. I knew it was my doing, but I didn't and I don't feel it was a bad choice at all: sometimes, ya just need a break from life in order to be better at what you do: work to live not live to work, that sort of thing. Still, I couldn't help but wonder, with romance being so appealing, with affectionate being so infectious, with cuddling being so contagious, and with dreamy eyed staring being so stunning, how does one balance romance and life? Is it possible? Do you have to live together to make it happen, since then you theoretically are around your partner all of the time so there is less planning involved? Is there a perfect #balance? Is this an exclusively #gay issue? Or is it always a rushed struggle? It doesn't feel so overwhelming at all to spend time with T. For me, though, a Cancer, and an individual who needs order at home and significant amounts of 'me' time, I wonder if there is a way to achieve a balance, especially so early on in a relationship of such romantic proportions. I'm sure there is; my fear is that I already see him seldom: on the weekends with the oh-too-occasional mid-week encounter. I'm sure if I lived in Manhattan, it'd be easier.

That next morning, after tidying up my place a bit, with T's help (point again!), I drove him home. The morning was beautiful. The air was crisp. The vanilla chai he bought me was necessary. And when I arrived at work, job number 2, I felt inspired. I would not write, in my spare moments, a disparaging, dark, brooding, Hamletesque poem of intensely dramatic imagery and Virgina Woolf sentence structures; instead, I'd write the beginning page to a story of love conquering all-odds. When the mood strikes to write, ya gotta go with it.

Funny enough, somehow, thinking about the time that passes between my seeing my boy, what sits in my gut is not a nervousness, insecurity, or jealousy, as though my not seeing him as often as I'd like will result in the quick and speedy demise of us. I feel rather secure. I look forward to seeing him. I look forward to having time to do me and share with him. 

And if it does not work out with T, I can say confidently I've made a friend for life. After all, the best relationships are where you can be friends with your partner, that person with whom the struggle to find balance between life and romance is a welcome one.

Still, I have to wonder, will I ever get to that Master Pangloss best of all possible worlds version of balance between my relationship and my own individual life, responsibilities, obligations, and the like? The jury is out on that. In the meantime, I'll start putting in requests for my next life. Perhaps, in my next life, this Cancerian will return as a Libra. They seem to do better with the whole juggling act.