Standing with a loose crotch.

23 August 2001—I don’t take it easy. I’ve accepted that about myself; I’ve come to terms with it. Truth be told, I never really thought it was a problem until recently. And yet it’s also a faulty assessment: sometimes I’m lighthearted, spontaneous, easygoing. Depends who I’m with. I always laugh and smile easily and broadly (hence the name, in case you were wondering).

But overall, I suppose, I’m not what you would call carefree. Take dating, for example. I’ve never understood it, was never adept at it, and thus, in some form of sour grapes, never cared for it. My parents encouraged me to date lightly: what was wrong with seeing more than one person at a time? This was in high school, mind you, though their tune has never really changed. I should take things lightly, don’t worry whether this person is The One. My stepfather had a phrase for it: standing with a loose crotch. Over time I have forgotten the plots and characters and metaphors of dozens of great works of literature, but this phrase is deeply, annoyingly branded on my brain. He should have trademarked it.

Standing with a loose crotch. What the fuck does that mean?

Well, it’s not just the crotch if you do it right, I suppose. You assume some sort of stance, an at-ease that’s even more at ease, perhaps. Somewhere between at-ease and akimbo, but where everything almost floats. Your ass relaxes, I suppose. Your sphincter breathes easy. You are now at the mercy of the whims and winds of the world.

My biggest problem, perhaps, is that I want to know things. I want to know that I’m doing something meaningful with my life. I want to know that I’m actually a writer and not just purporting to be one. I want to know that there is an amazing person out there who will be as thrilled to see me all the time as I will be to see her. I don’t want to know what the future holds, but I want to know that there is a future that one can strive for.

And I try to avoid the use of the word should in most cases, but apparently these are things I shouldn’t want to know, because I’m told they get in the way of being happy now. Trouble was, I thought I was happy, most of the time. I get lonely sometimes, I get depressed sometimes, but mostly my life is filled with wonderful people, interesting work, and too many fun things to do.

But at the same time, I know there are things I’m missing out on. I typically avoid large parties where I don’t know more than one or two people, because I don’t meet people easily like that. Unfortunately, I can’t indulge in alcohol because of my stupid stomach, and I’ve never been that interested in drugs, which provokes the kind of incredulous response in my friends that’s provoked in me whenever I hear about people who’ve never been that interested in chocolate. (I mean, what planet are they from, anyway?) The point is, these are things other people use to ease themselves into small talk. I can’t, or I don’t. I have little interest in an evening full of inane chatter. But what if it isn’t inane after all? Or what if it is and that’s fine?

Then there’s love. Still no interest in casual dating. If I can’t talk deeply with someone, why would I want to spend any time with her? Who cares how good she looks? OK, there’s casual sex, but I’ve never been adept at that either: I’ve never been able to shed the guilt that I’m using someone to satisfy a physical need, even if she’s using me the same way. I suppose that somewhere in the world there is a situation wherein it’s completely equal and understood, and enjoyed for what it is.

I have yet to find myself in the middle of such a situation.

Or what if I meet someone I’m fairly certain it won’t work out with down the road? In the past I’ve avoided such relationships, except for the one time I couldn’t help it. Why can’t I just enjoy a relationship in the short term, and not ask too much from it?

But let’s say I find a truly kindred spirit, someone who speaks directly to my soul, and I to hers. If we can cut through the bullshit and engage each other on a meaningful level, why would I want to do that with more than one person? But then I run the risk of being too intense, coming on too strongly. Slow down, my friends say, my parents say. How do I slow down when someone excites me so?

And finally – for tonight, at least – there’s spirituality. I’m afraid that I’m missing out on the deeply spiritual aspect of the world. My dear friend April is going off to Burning Man tomorrow. Other friends are going later. Someone asked me recently if I was planning on going, and I confessed that it wasn’t really my scene. I was embarrassed about that, actually. I mean, to a certain extent I’m afraid: afraid that I won’t get it, that I wouldn’t be able to see the desert for the tents. I sat with April the other day and marveled at her connection to different planes. I am too tied down to this particular world, the one where things are fucked up and need fixing. It’s good to be connected to that world (tikkun olam is spirituality, too), but there is much more I haven’t yet connected with. I wish I could travel between the myriad worlds. I’m used to crossing many borders, so why not these? The irony is, I feel like I would have to learn so much more before embarking on such a journey, and yet, that’s not the right way to prepare. Feeling is more important than thinking.

I worry. I overthink. Even now I worry that I haven’t expressed this push/pull well enough to mean something to someone besides myself. But at least somewhere in here there’s an acknowledgement of inflexibility, an admission of complicity.

Perhaps even a slight repositioning of my body.

your thoughts?