And I’m Not Afraid To Admit It
He laid on top of me, bracing his weight with his right hand, his left cupping my face while we were one, and he kissed me sweetly, as if it was more than just a kiss, staring at me like no man has ever stared at me before. And I felt as I never had: complete.
I noticed the cold tile beneath my thin Tempurpedic mattress topper but I didn’t care. A surge of warmth consumed my body as I lay under him, and I stared back, void of fear, completely vulnerable.
“I am so in love with you,” he whispered.
I blushed, looked away for a moment, and felt a tear move slowly down my cheek. He stopped it with his thumb, dried it up, and kissed me again.
It was the first night in my new apartment, and stacks of clothes on hangers piled high around us. The 7 pm spring sunshine peered through the blinds, hitting his bare skin and face. I remember thinking, I have never felt more adored and safe in my entire life. I was in love, and he felt like home.
I return to this memory when I feel lonely: those moments after an unfulfilling date, or when a new romantic interest falls short, or when my family is together for dinner across the country.
And I return to this memory when I feel excited: those moments after a magical evening with a new romantic interest, or when on the beach, with sand caked on my feet, my cheeks sore from smiling while watching my pug joyfully sprint in circles as the sun dips and says goodbye to the day.
I enjoy those moments while also feeling a bit of longing for something more, someone more.
Though I’m quite outgoing and easily meet people, deep connection is something I have with only a handful. It’s something of which I seek more, we all seek. And I want it, all of it.
I try to recreate these moments of intimacy. I give people the benefit of the doubt: he didn’t call because he’s busy, she didn’t return a text because she’s out of town.
But at a certain point you just accept that not everyone can be what you want them to be.
Having moved all alone to many cities, in the US and internationally, as well as traveled to dozens of countries by myself, what I’ve learned is, no matter one’s age or location, it can just be FUCKING lonely at times. The deep connection you share with your closest friends and family and a romantic partner is very difficult to build — it’s rare but in that rarity comes immense beauty.
These feelings and thoughts are something about which few talk and to which few admit, but if I’m feeling it, I know most others do too.
But saying all this doesn’t mean I’m not happy. My life is awesome. Lately, my schedule is like this: I surf, eat, bike to the coffeeshop to work and write, roller skate or rock climb, and finish the day biking the pup, eating dinner, and chilling at home or with friends. I mean, come on. It’s vacation, every single day.
Yet still, living in a new city, single, means that deep connection and sense of homeyness is often missing. So, how do we live in a way that keeps us, as well as surrounds ourselves with others who are, emotionally open to building these types of relationships and experiences that make us feel whole?