I am writing to you from a train on my way back from Baltimore to New York.
Since the unexpected and unwarranted promotion happened, I’ve been taking on more clients, all the while wondering when everyone will finally figure out that I have no idea what I’m doing.
On Friday night I got to stay at the Marriott and get a $50 stipend for breakfast alone. So yeah, I went ahead and ordered the biscuits and the coffee and the smoked bacon and the steak and eggs, and ate them in my queen-sized bed overlooking a parking lot.
On Saturday night, I got to see Lucas and stay with him and his wife Sharon and their 1-year-old Cody for a night.
When Lucas first met Sharon, I knew he was a goner. Maybe it’s because before they met, he had spent a year and a half recovering from a bad break-up by hooking up with OKCupid matches and relapsing on cigarettes. Or maybe it’s because Sharon saw the considerate guy behind his cocky facade.
But when he told me he asked her out for a second date while still on their first, I knew he was hooked, and I’d need to find someone else to play squash with.
Normally, being the third wheel sucks – you sense the bond between the two other people and you feel lightyears away from also having something with such intensity. But with Lucas and Sharon, I don’t feel deficient and down at all. I actually like to watch them together, because it gives me hope that if Lucas can find it – well, damn – so can I eventually, right?
That night, after Cody was put to bed, the three of us rented a movie and Sharon cooked chili and we all just caught up. Around midnight, they offered me sheets and a quilt and pillows to make a bed on the sofa, we said goodnight.
Closing my eyes, I could hear all the sounds of their home – the creaks and the charged refrigerator and the tick of a plastic clock down the hall. In their bedroom just a couple of feet away, I could hear their quiet conversation.
They talked about little things, like the food they have to get Cody and where Lucas’ pajama pants are and if they should wash the pillowcases tomorrow.
But I could feel the comfort in their words, the closeness that just blanketed all these trivial little nothings and made them into very mighty somethings.
And I lied awake thinking how they lucky they are, how immense it is to find the one person out of billions who you can speak with in such a quiet, little, nothing-but-something way before bed.
I forgot what it was like.
I’ve always told myself that, only when my life gets figured out, can I finally really be with someone. Because how can I provide and give them a good life and really be emotionally there for them if my career isn’t completely on track?
But maybe that’s the kind of thinking that lands you, at the age of 40, lying on a couch in your best friend’s house in Baltimore, suddenly remembering what it’s like to love someone and feel secure.
We’re all confused and messed up and unsure of our way, but maybe it could be more fun having a partner to jostle around with through these ups and downs, instead of just you bumping up against your own crazy, morning and night after morning and night.
I want what they have. I want the house and the talk and the love and the kid and the plastic clock and the chili. And I’ve never really wanted that before.
I guess you could call this “growing up.”
Or maybe it’s simply clarity.
thesaintgermain 