On "ME"ism & Our Collective "I"LLNESS, part II

Me & John, circa '82

"We should take out an ad," he says.  "Date Cara and, afterward, you'll meet and marry your Soul mate."  "Yeah, thanks," I respond to my ex who mistakenly thinks that his emotionally abusive sarcasm is even remotely humorous.  You may question why I even open myself up to such exchanges.  If it weren't for the two dogs between us, I would be less willing to meet him somewhere in the middle.  Nonetheless, I am deeply grateful for the dance that he and I shared.  In fact, I wouldn't be here, now, without it.

We met back in '05 at a friend's wedding in Julian.  At the time, I was existing within the small bubble of my mind.  Thinking that my shit didn't stink, I also erroneously believed that I was an open-minded American.  I remember metaphorically experiencing the Earth shaking under my feet when we first walked by each other.  I recall his lean confidence, his striking looks and the Aviator shades that hid his wise eyes.  Then, I noticed that he was "just" the caterer.  I waved him off with the toss of my hand and turned my attention to the groom's best friend.  Yes, indeed - I was a class'ist and I never even knew it.

The best man turned out to be an illusion - a Calvin Klein underwear model posing as a small-town boy.  Meanwhile, the real meat and potatoes was this dark-skinned man who quickly searched his brain for the best line to feed me as I moved down the buffet line.  Immediately recognizing that I didn't pluck the hair between my eyebrows - which, then, must mean that I like them as they are - he said, "I like your eyebrows."  Our time together came to include lots of laughter and movement as well as the natural unfolding of organic play.

He was a Mexican national who grew up dirt poor on the streets of Guadalajara, selling chiclet as the baby teeth rotted in his mouth.  He was a hustler who had been busting his ass to make money ever since he was eight-years-old - when he was told that school was unimportant and that his ability to retain a roof over his head was dependent upon his bringing pesos home, everyday.  Almost immediately, he recognized me for what I was - a spoiled, American, mama's girl.  Back in '05, I had little common sense.  It had been bred out of me as I had not needed to use my quick instinct and powerful intuition to get by in the world.  I was completely and totally self-centered.  Life was all about me and my whims.  I was inconsiderate - for example, I would grind coffee beans in the early morning hours without consideration for my roommates and their need for deep sleep.  And, I knew not how to be a friend.  At that time, I could count the amount of intimate connections that I shared with others on, maybe, two hands (if I was lucky).

The truth of his words and of what he saw in me cut me open.  Even though I knew that I had become a monster - a self-consuming, ego-maniac - hearing it confirmed by the first man that I allowed myself to fall in love with was more than my ailing spirit could handle.  I broke open and the repressed emotion that I had swallowed for years nearly ate me whole.