Love Won’t Bring Me Down

A couple of drunken nights rolling on the floor
Is just the kind of mess I’m looking for.
“I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight” by Linda and Richard Thompson

You know that I could be in love with almost everyone
“Alone Again Or” by Love

*

Recently, I met an exceptionally attractive and intriguing fellow at a party and seduced him back to my apartment. It was all done with some thought and intention. We had an interesting night of intense power dynamics that left me feeling both thrilled and vulnerable (I’ll spare the details). I woke up the next morning smiling, wondering about this particular fellow and what his story was. I realized I hadn’t asked him one question about himself.

I spent the next week not only researching this guy (What? What do you think Google is for?), but also spiralling into a place of severe anxiety and self-doubt. What on earth were my intentions? What kind of impression did I leave? And what the fuck was I looking for from all of this? I think I knew the answer but I couldn’t quite own up to it.

A few days after the encounter, I was on the couch with my dog Dutchie, trying to figure out if I should send this stranger an email. It was the longest day of the year so I went to my patio to watch the sky. I wanted a sign. Crows were cawing at each other. I struggled to see the symbolism. Then my neighbour rolled up on her bike. I invited her up and unloaded my anxiety on her. I asked her what I should do.

“Just be yourself,” she said.

I told her that myself would send him an honest, heartfelt note that would probably weird him out. I am so bad at games. She assured me that I should follow my heart and I felt like it was the sign I was looking for, though it probably wasn’t going to produce optimal results.

I found his email online and sent him a note. I told him our night made me happy and that there was something special about him. I told him I looked forward to seeing him again.

The next morning I went to the dog park. My favourite dog park friends were there: Bret, a mopey, down on his luck but affable Seth Rogen type and Svetlana, a regal and stunning Russian lady with expensive taste and a huge, warm heart. Bret is clearly in a difficult place at the moment and his demeanour shows it, while Svetlana is one of those people who just seems so content with her life, so long as the sun is shining and there are people around to talk to.

Bret was joking about how his sister’s wedding was coming up and the rules she’d set up for him.

“I’m not allowed to hit on any of the bridesmaids,” he said. “But if they talk to me, it’s fair game.”

We laughed and he continued. “But I know how to play it. If they talk to me, I’m just going to ignore them. That’ll throw them off.”

I stopped for a second and looked at him.

“Why don’t you just be yourself?” I asked. I was sincere.

Svetlana laughed.

“You know nothing?” she said to me. “That’s not how you do it. Men are stupid. You play them.”

My heart sank. I admired Svetlana for her strong sense of self and the way people were so drawn to her as a result. I looked up to her. If this was the truth, I was going to have to change.

*

Throughout the week, I found myself asking the following questions, over and over again: How do I accept myself? Is it a long, drawn out process?

It certainly felt that way.

*

While getting ready for the Cheaper Show, I called my shaman for advice. (Yes, I have a shaman.) I was about to attend one of the biggest social gatherings of the year (for my social circle anyways) after experiencing a week of severe anxiety. I was probably going to see this guy, who I had spent a night with, found on the internet and wrote a heartfelt email to, who, in turn, had not responded. I just needed someone to tell me it was going to be okay.

My shaman told me to keep doing what I was doing. Just be myself.

“But it doesn’t seem to be working,” I said.

“Give it time,” he said. “It’s a numbers game. Keep doing what you’re doing and eventually you’ll find someone who will accept you.”

I told him I don’t have the patience for that. It felt like it would take forever.

“So long as you’re aware,” he said.

*

The Cheaper Show was crowded and the energy, infectious. I toured the room a few times and eventually saw the man of intrigue. My heart started to race and I ducked into an installation by the artist Devitt Brown. It was a small, dark room with a wall of red lasers shooting across. Two young women giggled as they swiped their hands through the lasers. I walked through it without much thought. They asked a tall man standing in the corner, who I assumed was the artist, what his art represented.

“Everything,” he replied. “What’s your greatest fear?”

“I dunno,” one giggled. “These lasers.”

“Well, it’s all a figment of your imagination,” he said and walked out of the room.

I stood there for one stunned moment and took a breath.

Then I walked back out into the crowded art show, found the man of intrigue and said hello.

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