The Long Road Home

I wrote this letter to my only long term girlfriend on our first anniversary in 2011. I present it here to provide what, in retrospect, is an incredibly clear expression of a man’s desire to have a woman love him unconditionally. Rollo talks about it here and here. My words are heartfelt, vulnerable, and utterly clueless. It didn’t change a damn thing in our relationship. She swore she wanted this vulnerability and then, when it was presented, she despised me for the weakness she rightfully saw. I’m not mad at her, and I’m not being hard on myself. I’m more vulnerable than ever nowadays, in the sense that I’m authentic, honest, and not risk-averse. I’m much happier understanding the way the cogs of hypergamy turn the machine of woman. In truth I probably enjoy women more than ever before, now that I know what is proper to expect of them. The things I yearn for in this letter can only come from within myself, never a woman. Perhaps you’re in the same place I was. There’s hope. It’s difficult, but that feeling of home you’ve always searched for is within yourself.

My Dearest *E*:

There is a truth in all great art, whether high or lowbrow, that pricks my heart. The heart with the dark spot on it, not the callused and busy yet slowly softening thing you find before you these days. I’m sitting here in the dark on a Sunday night listening to Junior Kimbrough’s “Meet Me in the City” on repeat because it sums up the way you cause me to feel. Junior’s thumb strums the single note on the bass string over and over like it’s all he’s ever known how to do. Over this he mumbles barely decipherable poetry that sounds like what God might say if I knew He existed for sure and he was holding me in his arms. It’s what I feel, and Junior sings it so deep and true I should probably just quote him:

“We’ll get together now darlin’, oh yes we will, we’ll make everything all right. Oh honey don’t, oh honey don’t, please please don’t leave me girl right now, right now, right now, you got me baby. you got me girl, you got me where you want me baby.”

It just makes sense, it jives with how I feel when my hand is gently resting on your leg in a movie theatre or church or a restaurant. I’m not always aware of it, I might be distracted or busy or just hiding – but when I focus on it, move it from the periphery of my consciousness into the centre, it’s what I’ve been waiting for my entire life. It’s the surety that someday when you’re gone, or I am, whichever of us is left will know that for these short few years the other was with us and for us.

All the times I felt scared and alone on this earth, I was just waiting for you to be there. In high school, in college, in Australia, I was waiting. The vacancy in those rare nights I bothered to quiet my soul was molded by an unseen hand into your shape. I remember stopping during a nighttime rainstorm over Curl Curl beach and staring into a heaving ocean and feeling an absence, a less-than-fulness. I had to push it away – it was too painful – but you are the fulfillment. The pain was a testimony to your future and continuing presence.

I am deeply grateful for your patience, your love, and your kindness. I know I’m a difficult person but I hope and pray I’m becoming easier for you. There are still issues to resolve, but I truly feel we’ve hit our stride over the past little bit and begun to reap the harvest we’ve sown. The fruit of that labor is every glance we give each other when something strikes us as odd about other couples, as if they should be past that. As if they should communicate better and love each other more robustly. As if they should touch each other like we do. As if they should maybe talk about those things directly – you know, like we do. I know it has worn you down, but you and I are more in tune than I thought it possible for two people to be. Take heart, my love, we’re only now just beginning to understand how the other works.

A whole entire year has passed since our first date. 362 days since we talked about getting married. It’s a wonderful time to stop and be thankful for the place at which we’ve arrived – a place of kindness and peace. I love you deeply and I will marry you.

P.S. I will always own your ass at putt-putt.

J.