It’s Got Nothing to do with Me

I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world
But she’s just like a maze
Where all of the walls all continually change
And I’ve done all I can
To stand on her steps with my heart in my hands
Now I’m starting to see
Maybe it’s got nothing to do with me
-John Mayer, “Daughters”

Yeah, I know, he’s singing about a girl with daddy issues, but I hear truth in that verse beyond what I know was the intention.  Aren’t we all a maze?  A puzzle to be ciphered?  Isn’t that what makes life interesting?  And when we bear our hearts and offer them up, bloody in our own hands, and are either rejected or deferred, in the end and at the core, that has nothing to do with us, the heart bearer.  Sure, maybe the intended recipient is scared of blood… but that is his fear, not mine.  Maybe he likes his heart a different shape or size, maybe he wants it to smell differently, or feel differently in his hands.  Maybe he just doesn’t like bloody hearts at all.  Again… his preferences, his desires, his whatever…. and that has “nothing to do with me”.

A dear friend of mine, my karaoke buddy with a voice like an Angel*, and I shared a discussion about something we both came to separately, from different angles, both at times we weren’t exactly looking for the message that was delivered.  Her message of “letting go” came from a pastor during a pool-side sermon and mine from a yoga instructor during practice, but we both felt so much lighter and free when we realized the liberation that can come from letting go of control.  And John Mayer’s words are just one more facet to the on the marquis cut gemstone of freedom.  If Mr. Possbilities** appreciates the heart I’m offering, then he has amazing taste.  And if he doesn’t, it has nothing to do with me.  His choices, his predilection, his say so do not dictate my worth.  I am as stunningly intelligent, curiously creative and commonly adorable regardless of his wants.  But I don’t know what he wants yet.  At this point, I’m not even sure that he knows I’m out here on his step with my heart beating in my bare hands waiting for him to invite me in.  But since I’m ridiculously patient (to a fault) in these matters, I’ll stick around here for a while until I can reason it all out.

And I’ve reasoned this much so far… there are three possible conclusions.  He will notice that I’m waiting here and smile, taking me in his arms to let me know he’s been waiting for the best opportunity to reveal his feelings to me.  Or, he’ll notice me standing here and tell me he’s not buying what I’m selling.  At which point, I’ll need to pack my heart back in its box (I’m not sure it knows how to live in my chest anymore) and head home to regroup.  Or, he’ll never look out the window.  And that last possibility is likely the most daunting.  The unknown is the most uncontrollable as it breeds more monkey mind and possibilities  For that reason, I’ve given the entire circumstance an expiration date.  I have it in my head the date by which I must have answer.  Of course when the answer is a hug that means more than any hug we’ve ever shared before, I’m throwing that date out.  If I learn before then that I’m barking up the wrong tree, I won’t linger until that date either.  But if all that remains are possibilities by *** **, 2014 (sorry, I have to keep some things to myself – you know at least it is before the year is over), I will choose to turn the page.  I’m not going to allow myself to repeat history and hold out hope for something for years that never happens.  But I’m also not willing to run away when I’m even sure I’ve really knocked on the door yet, and even if I did, did he hear it?  And other than the fact that I’m standing here right now, it’s got nothing to do with me.

My Dysfunctional Love Life reminded me that we’re all writing our own stories, all working to pen our perfecting ending, putting us arm in arm with our perfect match.  I don’t want to be that character in the novel you read that makes you want to bang your head against the wall because I can’t see the writing on it.  I’m not writing still life anymore.  Even my friend Angel, told me Saturday the thing that finally knocked my out of the seemingly infinite loop of The Man Who Never Loved Me Back*** a year or so ago was the best thing that ever happened to me.  It was an interesting and appreciated perspective.  Is that where this entire ball started to roll?  The ball where I start to find out who I am?  Or did it start even before then in quiet ways that I never even heard?  And as I continue on the path, will I be able to look back and see more beacons that I initially passed by without noticing?  The thing I can be sure of at this point is that I am enjoying the journey.  And I’m even more grateful for those who here to join me in my travels.

Angel* – a married with children teacher who is totally realistic and honest, amazing and beautiful, intelligent and talented who I am blessed to call my friend.

Mr. Possibilities** – the current object of my affections – and that is all that I’m saying about that.

The Man Who Never Loved Me Back*** – those words tell you everything you need to know.

---