Here’s how I know

Do I know, though? Really? I was reading your very words recently, Joy, about purpose. Specifically, about differentiating it from passion.

My whole life I would have told you that writing was the thing I was born to do – that there were messages I was tasked to deliver. But still, we’ve always remained somewhat separate, she and I – in our respective dance spaces. Hitting an occasional do-si-do, maybe even a few elbow-linked “swing your partner ‘round and ‘round”s. But we’ve never really fallen into the rhythm of a salsa, a tango, a waltz. We’ve hesitated to get that close, that vulnerable, to press our flesh together and really feel the salty sweat that glosses each other’s skin.

No, instead we’ve maintained a safe distance. But is it safe? A healthy distance. What does that even mean? Even over this last year when we’ve been taunting each other – locking eyes for a while until it starts to get too intense and I flutter my lashes and glance down to the floor.

I once heard a published writer say that writing her memoir had cost her tens of thousands of dollars in therapy, and I believe it – was relieved to hear that this might be part of a universal path, as it’s been the foundation – the may pole for me around which everything else has been born.

Oh, friend, are we meant to do this dance for eternity? Does it matter? It shouldn’t. But I’m getting impatient. I’m good at monogamy, I think. But maybe I’ve never before been able to commit to a partner who expects me to really show up.