If...Just for Comfort

Simply aiming for comfort has come to be seen as shooting low, or settling for less - especially in careers, and certainly in relationships.  Since we know I choose constant change and upheaval in the former, I mean heretofore to focus on the latter.  

At present (for this may change), I propose that just because someone impresses you doesn't mean they will be the next love of your life.  And if it looks like this miracle may not be the case, do you walk?  'Yes' some of you may say, but this is what defines the youthful heart I think, which is easily impressed by the magnetic qualities of the object of desire and equating this to that of undeniable love.  
When you 'grow up', and have enough affairs in life however, you learn that a person can be endlessly interesting yet never grips your heart, while a most ordinary soul can enchant you for life.  

Mutual admiration of the hot chemical kind  offers experiences or delights  with exciting fitful tales, but at a certain age, is this height of elation a necessary experience, let alone an automatic inclusion in our personal narratives? Evolutionary biology and psychology show that the timing of our most heated affairs and loves are aligned perfectly with our most fertile, hormonal, energetic years - when we are blind enough to create or believe the singularly aimed love-hype of 'forever after', and, also  whilst we are fit enough for the turmoil all that preposterous or near pathological energy often leaves in its wake.   

We are all taught either directly or indirectly from a young age that we should look for the impossible in a mate; find a  soul that 'completes' us, challenges and delights us, loves us endlessly, unconditionally, AND should be resident in a preternaturally attractive body which should remain that way...for eternity; any thing less being a most unsettling compromise. And no matter how you may have started out: in a bewilderingly beautiful and adrenalized love affair, or, a befouling catastophic event  - you still, in youth, believe this, wish, hope, and look for this tall tale whether you care to admit it or not. 

Then a bit more life happens. And it becomes distastefully apparent that alas, eternity in life (pardon the paradox, but it's what the fairy tales sell, right?), let alone with another, is not meant for some of us mere mortals.   And with one disappointing reality check (aka highway-of-love-heart-wreck) after another, we eventually rewrite the fantasy, the very tale that perhaps set the blind spots in place for all those collisions.

We retreat, we heal, we spend time with ourselves, we create some quiet, and then...we don't look; rather we hold exclusively open auditions (I know, oxymoron again) for someone to share the quiet with.  We become satisfied with the idea of someone filling a less complex role than 'soul mate' or 'self-completer'; we find we can only open up to  someone who is clear, calm, direct, and free of the indefatigable grand arias of yada-forever-bull-cah-cah; you know, someone who can just keep it real.  And if we find them, we herald them publicly as a wholesome catch summed up simply as "there's just no drama."  

I scream on my behalf on this one.  Heaven knows, the gods have ensured throughout my life and so therefore know, my great fortune in love, or at least, in affairs.  I have swept, and been swept off my feet by dashing novas in ways meant only for the movies to be sure, and much to the envy of those who've heard or witnessed my inordinately epic (and sometimes ridiculous) romances.  But - but, at this point the only thing I look for in my new tailor-made fantasies can be satisfied by far less frills, pomp, and unsustainable circumstance. Of course I still want fun adventures, but I also want to relax while having them.  I just want to be...sigh...comfortable.

If... 

If I were but a leaf
    falling from the burdened weight of your weary limbs,
I would waft my way
    through the spaces of your turbulent sways
Leaving drops of my chlorophyll spies
    to fill your horizon with shades of new life.

But here I stick to my heavy branch
    Too weary to detach
My stems uncertain, heaving doubtful sighs;
   eyes blinded by colourless promises in cloudless skies,

Hope floats beyond the shifting spaces,        

    hiding plainly from our weeping lies.

PS. Nothing to do with the topic at hand but, 

here's a great relaxation technique...rock balancing.  

seriously - try it.  

:)