The World I’m In

Where the touch of a lover ends and the soul of a friend begins,

there’s a need to be separate and a need to be one,

and a struggle neither wins.

~ Jackson Browne, “Sky Blue and Black”

 

When I hear that song, I think of the man I consider my writing kindred… my alter ego, perhaps.  For a fleeting moment in the span of our relationship, we were romantically involved.  That sweet, but corrosive flash of time in our entirety altered (nearly destroyed) what we both felt was a divine partnership.  The passionate moment… the equally explosive parting… the prolonged emptiness… the slow and solitary recovery.  After a long while, we reconciled and began to redefine our relationship.  A new contentment and creativity blossomed from and between us, and we’ve long put aside what he referred to as our emotional “Chernobyl.”

As writers, the ethereal interaction between us is easy, entirely natural and unguarded.  But physically and verbally, we’ve only tentatively approached the reconstruction.  After an intense exchange a few weeks ago, I cautiously suggested lunch.  I can pretend not to want to touch you, I wrote.  Shocking words to an outsider, no doubt, but he knew what I meant because he struggles with the same kind of awkwardness.  We’ve both stated We are not “that” anymore.

But knowing what you ARE NOT does not mean you know what you ARE.  Sometimes we (mostly I) iterate and reiterate our positions to a point that we get confused.  Having a relationship that relies almost entirely on words is no easy feat, let me tell you.

Nonetheless, where once the lines between us were not so clear, I’m confident that he and I have grown enough to know the difference between honesty and manipulation.  And to whom should that matter, anyhow?  A recovering alcoholic puts his heart and soul into maintaining sobriety.  Does acknowledging the lost enjoyment of wine mean he’s fallen off the wagon?

I know myself and what I desire from wine, life, collaborations, friends… and creative kindreds.  But my kindred and I would be a proverbial “gray area” were we put before a public steering committee or citizens’ action group.  Luckily, we can reestablish our new comfort zone outside of such scrutiny.  Luckily, our awkwardness and occasional stupidity with each other remains just that: with each other.

The next line in Jackson’s song is…

Where you gave me the world I was in and a place I could make a stand,

I could never see how you doubted me when I let go of your hand.

 

I’ve discovered that proposing an ideal and living one are two very different things.  We often profess to be more or less than our dignity, courage, will, or self-esteem will allow in that particular phase of our lives.  I’ve done that: claimed to be more open than I am, pretended to be less bigoted or narrow-minded, played along with something that instinct told me was not in my best interest.  Some things we know without question to be right or wrong, and so we play roles that are clearly, logically defined.  But some matters aren’t so apparent.  And in those cases, we muddle our way through and do the best we can.

 

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