The Plus 1 Syndrome

2014 was turning out to be the year of love... for everyone but me. It seemed like everywhere I looked, Cupid was whizzing by.

Shortly after New Years, I arrived home from work one day to find an invitation to a wedding in the mail.

A week later, another wedding invitation arrived.

And the next week.

And again.

And a Bachelorette Party invite.

And a baby shower notification.

On Facebook, friends were changing statuses from "single" to "in a relationship;" and from "in a relationship" to "engaged" faster than Britney's 24 hour marriage.

Expressions of love were everywhere. And my checkbook was thinning.

Was Valentine on ecstasy this year? Was he shouting from the rooftops, 'hey, it's 2-14-14, bitches!'

Just this past Monday, another friend impressed upon me her most recent venture: she and her fiance were relocating into a fabulous two bedroom apartment in a Connecticut complex, complete with heated pool, on-site covered parking, dry-cleaning service, yoga studio, game room, and a washer and dryer in unit.

I was and I am happy for each coupling, life-event, and expression of love (even if my wallet may groan)... but as the invites for others in my life mounted, I couldn't help but feel a certain... anxiousness.

At 31 years and 9 months, was my time running out? Had I become complacent in my single-hood? I wondered, do gay men have a biological clock? And if so, was mine rapidly approaching ticking its last toc? Does the desire to couple force us into relationships too quickly?

After dating here and there, I boyfriended. Despite the quickness with which this coupling occurred, I admit, I was eager to develop something. Friends had seen posts on Facebook and communicated their... trepidation... for me over my newest love: 'It's nothing you're saying, Pete... there are some red flags in some of his posts. Just... go slow. If it's real, there's no need to rush.'

I can't say I entirely disagreed. Yet, when it's visceral and passionate, the only thing you find yourself wanting to do is be around the other person. It's like an intoxication or an addiction. You want more the more you have.

As this new relationship developed, I pictured my future with him. What would this be like in five years? Ten years? I imagined me introducing him to my family. I imagined meeting his. I pictured invitations in the mail with the label, "Mr. Me + one," instead of simply, "Mr. Me." It's an exciting thought, having someone you're falling for next to your own name. If I had a biological clock, it suddenly felt like it stopped... as if, I had all the time in the world now.

I pushed through with greater expediency than what I was used to in order to develop a close bond with him. It was easy in some ways; it was difficult in others. Forming trust takes time. Revealing yourself takes time, too; yet, despite this, I wanted this relationship. I wanted it to work. It's not that I had hidden myself, by any means. In fact, I am probably more resolved and honest in who I am, about who I am, now, than I'd been in prior relationships.

I sought counsel from friends to ensure I didn't make mistakes I'd made in the past. I was told I had grown significantly as a person. I was also reminded of the importance of me staying me so I can both be me in this newfound relationship and contribute myself as an individual to this new partnership.

As a writer, I write to process and express. I've been told it's a downfall. Sometimes, I'm more expressive in my writing than in person. It's something I am working on. Eh, we all have issues, I suppose. When I do write, I write with deliberate and precise wording. Usually, that is. The only time I don't write what I mean is when I am making a sexual innuendo; and never, ever is it to reveal personal information about another person without consent or speak disparagingly.

Sometimes, I forget how what I say or write affects the very real people around me, or about whom I write. This was brought to my attention in valid points by my boyfriend. He showed me how what I said affected him.

And through this all, did I really see him as a person? Had I fallen in love with him or with the idea of being in a relationship again? If it were the latter, that wouldn't be fair to him.

Still ill after days of battling whatever malady afflicted him, he was off to work. Luckily, he was given off upon arrival. He called me up and I invited him over. We had such a sweet date night. He cooked. I cracked eggs. We watched a movie. We kissed. It was the perfect low-key night after a long, tenuous weekend. We'd made up. Yup... in love with him. 

That next morning, I went to work... I dropped him off at home and hurried to my job. Mondays are my long day at work. When I arrived home after a dizzying day, I crashed onto my couch and immediately fell asleep... still in work clothes. No easy feat when you're wearing a Banana Republic cashmere sweater, button-down, tie, and khakis. I slept through every text and phone call for some time, and when I awoke, I realized how tired I still was. Life laboriously lapped itself onto my energies, sapping my strength as a mosquito drinks the blood of its victims. I needed to combat this heavy burden of responsibilities by using what little free time I had to recover some of the sleep I needed to have some semblance of energy to meet the next few days ahead.

I decided I'd turn in early after dinner. A change of clothes and some Trader Joe chicken nuggets in the oven later, I called my boyfriend back. He had called me while I slept. Without getting into details of the conversation, we joked some. I expressed how tired I was, despite having just taken a nap. We talked off an on a few times that night. Later, we had a friendly disagreement about communication. If I heard him right, he felt he shouldn't have to ask me as a boyfriend to essentially 'be there' with him while he was sick. He's probably right. Though, I felt if he wanted me there, he should communicate that to me... I wasn't a mind reader and I needed him to tell me what he wanted. Besides, we'd just seen each other that morning. I explained that I am the type to need some alone time and space. Being an introvert, alone time is sort of essential to my well-being... and if I am not well, I can't take care of anyone else effectively, let alone go into work and do my job teaching 90 very unique and individual human beings. I wish... I wish I could. I wish I had more energy.

To his credit, he also has a demanding job. I never meant to make him feel, if I had, that my job was better than his or his was better than mine. If anything, I envy in a lot of ways the freedoms his job seems to allow. When he leaves work, like so many in so many fields, he doesn't have to bring work home with him... or at least, not a ton, it seems. When I leave work... I always have more work to do. Our jobs are just different. Unfortunately for me, finding the balance between life and work is a perpetual struggle. I've lost many a potential relationship over this. It seems, I may have lost another from this, too.

I read this and I hear the words echoing in my ears: 'you play victim, really well.' Do I? Is this true? If it is... it's not my intention. Ever. Maybe this is something else I need to work on, too. Where's that mirror when you need it to face yourself?

I saw a picture of me that had just been posted. After the weekend, I jokingly texted saying I wanted to talk about this posting of pictures of me where, in my mind, I looked hideous. And, indeed, I wanted to address the sarcasm I sensed in our most recent discussion about me as a good boyfriend.

I lit a candle, took a shower, and fell to sleep. Sometime in the evening I awoke to flickering candle-light. I sleepily used the bathroom. I found my phone where I'd left it and put it on airplane mode as I customarily do, ignoring the notifications I had received, wanting to return to sleep quickly. My alarm was already set for the next day.

The next day, I awoke feeling refreshed. I jumped out of bed to my alarm, grabbed my phone, and went back into bed, letting my alarm play several times. In the cold of my room, my bed was inviting. After snoozing for awhile, I finally forced myself to come to consciousness. I turned my phone off airplane mode. Notifications popped up one by one. I went into my texts to read the texts I'd missed throughout the night and there, amid my texts were his texts. I had been 'playing games.' I had pissed him off. I had hurt him. And now, I had been dumped.

The night before, I was with someone who said he loved me. Someone who I can say I did, too. In earnest, I will for some time. Feelings may change, but they never truly go away... at least, not the good parts.

I was stunned awake. I didn't know what to think. I lied in bed piecing together what happened... what led to this decision... what had been this sequence of events. Was it my fault? I was tired... was it anyone's fault? I checked my Facebook. It's a funny thing: I was still in a relationship... only... where a name had been, there was now no one. I was in a relationship... with myself. Humiliated, I changed my status: unlike every card and update I'd seen in 2014, my 2014 was turning into a sham. I updated my status from 'in a relationship' back to 'single.'

He told me he didn't want to hear from me ever. I ignored this at first. I texted him immediately... 'I just got this. I'm confused.' But after a shower and some thought, I respected his space. I wouldn't contact him if that's what he wanted.

Maybe I should have gone after him. Maybe I should have reached out and tried to explain all of this. In the end, maybe we're just in different places... and that's okay. Maybe even though we want many of the same things, how we're willing to get there is too different. Contrary to popular belief, I don't live by my phone. I actually rather like turning it off for hours at a time. I ignored this propensity often in this relationship. I tried to meet the intensity of this new relationship with equal fervor, but such intensity isn't in me to maintain with consistency. I wish it were. I wish I could supply him with everything he needed and everything he deserved.

He was and is a good guy. I have absolutely no complaints about him. Sometimes, people are just in different places. Over the course of the day, I felt a range of emotions: sadness, furiousness, confusion... understanding. I had been broken up with in a text message over a misunderstanding. Rather than ask if I were okay, assumptions were made. That's not something I can fix and I have to accept that. I'm also not judging any actions or how anything happened. I can only know what's right for me. If someone is truly in love with someone... in my book... a break-up text wouldn't have been the answer. That mirrored for me so much of what was real in that relationship. Then again, everyone is different. Then again, maybe if I had cared more, I'd have gone over there... or showed up after work, despite the request to stay way. Maybe he wanted more: to see what I would do. Maybe there was nothing more to it: just a break-up.

Sometimes, you have to know when to say enough is enough. In the beginning, intensity is great. But that's one thing. Drama, arguing, and butting heads over anything is another. I don't blame him. I don't blame me. And I can venture that anyone on the outside will see the situation as they choose, which tends to happen no matter what. We're just two different people... wonderful in our own ways... needing to grow in our own ways.

Later that day, I came home. My body: tense. My mind: exhausted. I had checked his Facebook page more times than I could count, feeling a range of emotions. I reflected on past relationships. Some things would have put me over the edge... instead, I recognized my feelings, felt them for a moment, and moved on. I would not dwell in the underlying sadness this was inevitably causing me. When I arrived home, I ordered Chinese.

While binging on lo mein enough for five, I noticed how quiet my apartment was. My roommate was out; the place was all mine. It's a funny thing... even in a brief, intense relationship, you get used to someone. You get used to their presence: their sound, their smell, their laugh, their smile, their talk... everything. Now, the apartment was stone cold silent. I wanted to cry out of some despair I was feeling, but after a moment, I realized, this quiet was okay. If you can't be with yourself in the silence, how can you be with someone else? If not yourself, who else? I didn't need to explode, impress, compensate, forget, or do anything other than just 'be.'

Listening to Telepopmusik's, "Breathe," I know I'll be alright. I know he will, too. Though the whole experience may in time seem frivolous and silly in terms of the perhaps melodramatic descriptions with which I've painted it, the experience is still real, valid, and important to me. While I am very sensitive, to which I've been criticized time and time again, and ironically, told I lack sensitivity in many other areas of life, I'd rather feel too much than too little. I value who I am and how I exist in the world because my goal is always to make myself a better person. This isn't a victim talking; this is a survivor. After all life has dealt me, whether through my own fault or no fault of my own, I am still here, I am still trying, and I am climbing through the struggle.

I don't see myself as a man or a woman or any gender or sex. I know what I like, and I gravitate toward the particular qualities I like and the orientation to which I am accustomed for better or worse. I actually think it takes a lot within persons to admit who they are in totality to themselves; to embrace all of who they are, to work through their issues, to better themselves, and within this process, this willingness, this willpower is true strength. Still, sometimes I feel so weak, too. I like who I am. I know who I am. I am comfortable in my own skin. I am fine being vulnerable and being strong and being intense and calm and focused and spontaneous. I'm not perfect. I'm not a bad looking dude, but I'm not cocky either. I have what's important in life in my soul and, at the same time, I am bad-ass, sexy, sexual, and engaged with many of the illusions many people assign importance onto in life. In short, my validation is within me. When I find a partner, I will find someone who challenges and completes me; someone who brings the best out in me. Someone who sees me for me, imperfections and all, and sees it as sexy as any supermodel with a six pack may be. Someone who is honest. Someone who is sensitive and gentle and strong and true. And someone successful in their own right.

I don't know if I will ever find that one who will say I am the one. Who will be my one. Lord knows, I've dated couples before. I may end up with a two. That'll make for a hell of a blog. This relationship was amazing. It just surpassed in length my relationship with Stevie, which had equally been as glorious and riddled with challenges in their own right. I appreciate everything this relationship has taught me. In the end, this blog isn't about anyone other than me... my growth... my evolution... my process... and what I learn from being single (or not single).

I don't know if I am reaching a point where my biological clock is drastically changing or stopping altogether, assuming I have an internal drive to couple. Maybe it's not a biological clock at all. Maybe, instead, it's just me... maturing? Whatever it is... despite dreams of my own wedding... despite the very strong desire of having someone added as my plus one, in the end, it's not whether or not there is a name on the invite next to yours; it's having an invite with just your name and being totally fine with just that. Sometimes no plus one is a plus in its own right.

Even so, I took the batteries out of every clock in the house. Something about that tic-toc ticking makes it hard to sing, 'No day but today,' from Rent in my head with absolute serenity.

Through a glass darkly...

This is probably one of my worst blogs because so much has happened. I need to write more and more consistently often. It's hard for me being such a private person, so I avoid writing all the particulars. I also did not take the time to edit this. 

New York City is a city of numbers. Are you north of 96th or south? Which block do you live on? Do you work out at the New York Sports Club on 145? How many bedroom are in your place? 2? Which train do you take to work? The 4 or 5. How much money do you make per year? How much do you have saved? How many countries have you visited? What's the interest rate on your loan? How much did your mutual fund increase? Cabbie, take me to 23rd and 8th. I've had 5 partners. The longest I've been with someone was 2 years. I had 6 orgasms last night. We had sex 3 times in 2 hours. Numbers are everywhere.

Finding that "one" in a city of 8 million is almost as impossible as finding that perfect rent controlled two bedroom with quiet neighbors, on-site parking, wood floors and a sun-lit view overlooking the park. I can take years of back-breaking, laborious searching to sift through the options.

Having more options doesn't make the job any easier or go by any faster. In fact, it seems to make the task more daunting. More options means more opportunities to "sift." It's like shopping for new shoes; in a small shoe-shop, you have less to try on. You have fewer options and therefore make a decision one way or another much more quickly. In a large shoe store, you spend more time browsing, trying on different pairs, and because you have more options, your standards become more refined. You start demanding out of the bevy of options perfection. Accepting a less-than-perfect pair that fits becomes an option less entertained. But does having more actually give us less? Does that perfect "pair of shoes" exist? Has having so much for so long made us numb to what is real?

New Years. After a night with friend and chef extraordinaire, Menachem, I resolved to actively start dating again. I was interested in someone for some time but nothing seemed to be panning out. So I decided it was time to put myself back into the game. And I did. Being gay and single in the gay mecca that is New York, it would seem dates would be a dime a dozen. While for some, I am sure that is true. For me, an average-looking guy who doesn't spend every waking minute doing squats at the gym (more power to those who have the time and energy to do so), finding a guy that meets my standards, peeks my interest, and with whom there's a strong attraction among the numbers proves difficult. It's easier to log on to a social networking app and meet a guy for a random hook-up than it is to meet for a cup of coffee. Though, even hooking up in Harlem had been proving cumbersome. It seems I don't represent well on an app, but in person, I do alright. In fact, most think I am attractive in person and not on an app. Short of a serendipitous encounter, such as like one I had on the train during my week off in December, when, upon returning from the Museum, a tall, dark and handsome young gentleman began a conversation with me out of the blue on the train, meeting men in Manhattan requires the dreaded dive into the deep section of the pool: going to venues where casually meeting someone is almost an expectation. However, even that, with a demanding job like mine, which requires hours of off-hours work, finding the time and energy and space to put one's self 'out there' is actually rather difficult. When not working for work, most of my free-time and energy is devoted to sleeping, eating, catching up with friends and family, running errands and life. Besides, how much money do I really make where a weekly outing is even feasible?

Somehow, though, it happened. So near to New Years, I met someone with whom I could pursue this resolution on a consistent basis. He and I met on one of those 'social networking' apps. After some back and forth, it was discovered that we had a common interest... or, more like, a common mistake. He was the ex of my ex. Actually, he was the ex of "the Ex." In a city of 8 million people, of course one would expect to become romantically involved with your ex's ex. Intrigued by this discovery of shared history, we agreed to go on a date.

One date turned into several. And each time, we spoke less and less of our mutual experiences with the ex. It felt good. It felt real. It felt adult. We always met for dinner at a new restaurant each time. He even cooked dinner for me, something which I had to post excitedly on Facebook. Yet, something was missing.

February and Valentine's Day: I was, yet again, without a Valentine. I did, however, have one saving grace this year: I would go on yet another trip alone. A few years ago, I'd spent nearly a week in Key West, where I met Stevie, who I had a brief but doomed relationship with. Doomed only because shortly after meeting Stevie, Stevie relocated to Hawaii. Several time zones and a world apart don't make having a relationship very easy for one who isn't a millionaire. The trip wasn't a loss whatsoever, despite this reality check. I'd gone to Florida to recharge and reboot. This year, I'd do the same: I would go to Florida again to soak up some sun, rest, and be with myself after weeks upon weeks of non-stop work and a deplorable winter season. I made plans to go, convinced Menachem to join me there when he was able, and flew off. I didn't go there with any romantic intentions. I went there to just "be."

The first day I arrived, romance found me. Staying at my resort was a beautiful soul from Brazil. Instantly, there had been an attraction. By the second day, we were in our hotel's pool together. He spoke very little English and I speak no Portuguese; yet, somehow, we managed. I used my knowledge of Italian, Spanish and lots of hand signals to communicate. And it worked. We managed. And through it all, in this sunlit space, something utterly natural and amazing happened: I fell in love. It was instant; it was easy; and it was, of course, fleeting. Like Stevie, he would return to Brazil and I to snow-burdened New York. So, there were no expectations. I'd like to think the feeling was mutual, but either way, falling in love does something good for the soul. It was something I'd been missing for a couple years. He left the next day, though not before he and I spent some alone time together. I met my good friend Oso while in Florida. Funny enough, we talked about finding that special someone, too. Seems to be a recurring theme. Menachem joined me a few days later and helped me round out a blissful week with some debauchery, lap dances by some gorgeous strippers, and dancing. As Menachem went on a date in Florida, I flew home.

The next day, I went on Facebook. Something must have been different that day. I began speaking with a new and very attractive man, Ted. Unlike many on my Facebook, I'd actually met Ted in person several months earlier, though the conditions of our meeting were less than optimal. While waiting for a cab to go home on 10th and 29th after a night out with Menachem filled with double d's (dancing and debauchery), two gentlemen passed by. They had clearly been having a good time, too. So much so that one of them initiated free-flowing conversation with Menachem. Details aside, I was happy for Menachem's encounter. Menachem had met Ted. I voyeuristically stood as the encounter took place. Thinking nothing of it, Menachem and I hailed a cab and headed home uptown.

Menachem and Ted had planned on meeting, but after weeks of failed rendezvouses and misaligned stars for the pair, that meeting never happened. Menachem moved on. So did Ted.

I had friended Ted subsequent to that meeting with no intentions beyond investigating a guy my friend was interested in. I followed Ted's many posts on Facebook, including those describing in detail several dates he had gone on with other guys. I had an idea of who he was, though a person is not their Facebook page.

Back from Florida. That night, Ted and I began talking for the first time. It started off simple enough, but there was an immediate attraction. We video-chatted for what seemed like an hour or more. I found out much. He was a Leo with the same birthday as Zoboy. This fact was hard for me to ignore. Finally, we agreed to meet. He and I would meet that Thursday in pursuit of our mutual interest in one another.

Thursday arrived. And there was no Ted. I attributed this missing in action to a loss of interest. Friday came and I still hadn't heard from him. Finally, I did. He said he had dropped his phone and it had cracked. He wanted to still meet. I agreed. We set a time. Again, I hadn't heard from him. Was this a recurring pattern? After witnessing how Menachem hadn't been able to meet with him after several attempts, it seemed like it might be. Time had passed. When I finally heard from him, he said his phone had been lost. He had been given a new phone from a friend and hadn't yet activated it.

I gave him the benefit of the doubt, despite my gut telling me otherwise. Communicating through Facebook, I agreed to meet him for a third time. This time, we did. We met and there was an instant physical attraction. I ignored the series of unfortunate events which seemed to deter our initial encounter and went with it. There was a certain passion that was missing from my dates with the ex of the Ex. Ted intrigued me. He was sensitive and intense and unique. He was present.

March is a month for madness. Basketball... the ides of March... the transition from winter to Spring. Diving into the deep end before I could swim was no exception. After a few times meeting, we agreed to date exclusively. One Saturday night, we'd made plans to go on a real date. Up until that point, we'd only had one date, which was an impromptu dinner. He bought us tickets to an event at Pacha. We'd meet his friends in the Lower East Side for dinner and cocktails and then cab it over to Pacha. We began the night at Fat Buddha, a restaurant and bar populated by a mixed crowd of singles and partners. Ted worked with the bartender at his restaurant nearby. 6 dumplings, 2 spring rolls, a bowl of edamame and many shots of tequilla later, we decided to rendevous with another one of Ted's coworkers. After a few drinks at another restaurant, we decided to walk to his place nearby. After many a drink there, we called it a night. I hailed a cab and took us back to my place, preferring some alone time and sleep to dancing until the wee hours of the morning. That's when it happened. Whether it was the thrill of 'updating my profile' for the first time in years from 'single' to 'in a relationship,' or the simplicity of knowing I could invest my time and energy into one person, or just the attraction I had felt for him since we'd first met, we agreed to be boyfriends. It was fast. We talked about how fast it had happened. But we decided to take a shot at it. I didn't care to see anyone else. Neither did he. Just like that, the ex of the Ex was excommunicated. So were the other men I'd been seeing off and on.

We had our first fight over an issue of ex's. We resolved it quickly, in spite of certain things an ex of his had said... his honesty about it was reassuring. Additionally, he gave me a key to his apartment and he became very expressive about his feelings.

A short time later, Ted became ill. Sick with a flu, I brought him soup and the like to help him feel better. The next day after work, I immediately drove over to check on him. Ced was surprised by my coming.

We laid in his bed together watching a movie. I wanted to pounce on him. It had been a few days since we'd had any alone time. We talked and over the course of the conversation, our light and airy talk turned serious. I asked him if he wanted me to leave. He was sick and in my mind maybe he needed to be alone rather than have another person to deal with. We argued a bit. I decided I'd stay. I fell asleep and awoke to an apology from him. I apologized, too. I didn't understand how the situation had turned out. It was senseless. We cuddled a bit and somehow we talked about my family. He jokingly said he wanted me to bring back food from my family's house. I had dinner there the night before. He asked if my mom and dad were there. I'm not sure why, but that question put me on edge. It wasn't his fault; he doesn't know the history behind my parents. I didn't know why then, but the questions caused me to be defensive. On top of it, he started to initiate some 'alone time' with me. Only, it was never finished. I wondered why. Was it me? I felt in that moment that what had just happened was becoming more common. I felt myself close up. He sensed this and asked me what was wrong. I didn't want to make it about me since he was sick so I avoided it. Finally, I said it. He became immediately incensed. He seemed baffled by my comment and I, in turn, was confused that he didn't want to discuss it logically. He said he didn't understand why I was challenging him. Something about that word resonated deeply with me. In my mind, we were supposed to be partners... equal, even in spite of the newness of our relationship. In my mind, being so new, we should always be all over each other. For all of these reasons, and to give him space to be while he was sick, I told him I thought it'd be better if I were to leave. He agreed. And I did. Just like that, I left.

We hadn't spoken in over a day. I know it seems silly, but we had gone from spending every day together to absolute silence. Maybe we had gone too fast. Maybe it was a sign of an unhealthy dynamic that had unintentionally been created by the both of us. Had I not learned from the experiences of my past?

I reached out to him Saturday. He said he missed me but needed some time.

I didn't want to repeat past mistakes. What was it about this that was bringing out so many underlying issues so quickly? I had come so far. I decided to do what any good writer would do: research. I called my ex, Ty. We hadn't spoken in some time. I asked if he'd meet me for coffee and he did.

Over coffee, he asked why I had suddenly reached out. I explained that I knew I didn't have any right to ask him anything, but I wanted to know what I was like to be with when he and I were together... what his issues were with me. I wanted to know what I had done wrong so as to not repeat the same mistakes. Two hours later, I found that I was making some of the same mistakes with Ted, making new ones with Ted, and preventing others. I was glad for Ty's openness and honesty. It was an eye-opening experience for me. And, I feel I become closer to someone who I hope will be a good friend for the rest of my life.

Being open to criticism isn't easy. Taking a good and honest hard look at yourself can be terrifying. No body is perfect, at all. Being with someone means accepting those 'perfect imperfections,' and being constantly open to growing in the process. It means them accepting them too with patience and kindness and dignity. It means seeing what is acceptable and not. It also means being honest with yourself and the person you're with about what it is you want. Looking at yourself, you may not like what you see. You may not want to find out all those flaws. More and more, as I grow into my 30s, I find myself embracing these traits rather than turning away from them. I accept myself, flaws and all, and I am unapologetic about who I am and what I need to work on. At the end of the day, I used to think I'd need to be alone for as long as it took to work on who I am as a human being... but if I went with that approach, I'd avoid being in love for a very long time.

I want to see where this leads with Ted, but I think he and I need to take a step back and slow down a bit.

Still sick, Ted and I finally spoke. It had been a couple days. Rough days. Giving someone space can be challenging for a person that wants answers immediately. Yet, I am the first to tout taking time to process. He said he didn't have the energy for us to have that conversation just yet. I have to respect that. Certainly, if I were feeling ill, I wouldn't want to have that discussion either. Our schedules being what they are, it's unlikely we will see each other any time soon. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe the time apart is healthy for us. In fact, I know it is.

There isn't one way for any relationship. Everyone is different. And no one's relationship is perfect. Relationships take time, energy, the building of trust, maintaining who you yourself is as an individual, communication, openness, and honesty. I believe no relationship can be built on lies or omissions. In speaking with another friend, I was reminded how important it is to be open to what transpires. I'd like to think I am.

In the meantime, as it stands with all my feelings, complexities, peculiarities, and quirks, having taken a good hard look at myself, it seems I am no longer single and writing in New York City. It appears that out of the millions of options, out of the countless numbers, I've narrowed down to one with whom I am resolved to slowly develop a relationship and grow in love and peace. I don't know what the future will bring, but I know I'll be alright no matter what.