I appreciate my own baggage.

I'm intrigued by my own adventures in love, or at least the attempt toward something like it. I am at peace with the notion that I will probably be at least 30 by the time I find someone I will spend time with the rest of my life. I'm extremely difficult, whether it's because I'm too open to share myself, whether it's my intensity of emotion, or whether it any one of the items in my big, bulging, rolling suitcase of baggage. I appreciate my own baggage. I carry it proudly. I earned it, in a way. I carry pain, fear and insecurity, but I've learned from every ounce. I am more complicated because of it. But it makes me who I am and I appreciate that. 

I know I need someone with at least as much history as me. Sure we'll pay the extra fee and get the "heavy" tag strapped on by a tiny elastic band, but that is what I seek. I seek someone who has learned as much about himself as I have and am learning about myself. Every piece builds me up. The man who is meant for me will want to discover what holds me up. Hopefully it will take years to completely uncover each other, understanding a little more every day, continuing the mystery.

I embrace opportunity with wide open arms and a vulnerable heart. My openness is seen as something strange and scary or relieving and encouraging. It takes an open person to accept an open person. I walk straight in, with my arms, heart and mind wide open. I have no walls that need breaking down. So far, my absence of walls causes me to break down afterward because the men in my life try to build one around me. This is when I break down. Once someone builds a wall for me, it pains me to take it down. Piece by piece. With each block I tear back down, I analyze, every conversation, every glance and every stance I ever had. I'll will wish I had done something different, but it usually comes back to not having a wall. Despite that, I still refuse. I didn't do it different for some sort of reason.

I am not fearless. I have fear, I have a tremendous amount of fear, but I know when my fear gets in my way, I will not fly anywhere I want to be. And I want to go to and be in great places that will make me proud to look back and remember my path.

When I live one day at a time, the unknown isn't as overwhelming.

Paradox in Play

A personal lesson from the hedonistic paradox:

I sought someone who would be "good for me" in my life. In allowing whom I believed would be good for me deeper into my life, I realized the paradox in failure of attempt. The person I should have let deeper into my life is always good to me, takes care of me without question, comforts me when I'm down and I suppose he stands with his sword unwavering as well. I pursued and got used, all the while the one who would have actually been "good for me" kept caring for me. As open as I am, I don't think I press myself to my sword hard enough.

Instead of pressing myself into my own enough and putting my emotions at risk of rejection, I stay where I am and observe. I will never find the person to stand into their sword with me if neither of us are willing to push, chancing potential pain. I seem to seek the ones who will hurt me, not the ones who will shield me. I will know I've found the right person for me when we have shields around each other and still expose ourselves.

Beauty can't be taken.

Beauty cannot be taken; unfortunately, beauty can be used.

A mutually altruistic feeling in a relationship apparently is far and few, at least in my experience. One of my teachers posted this the other day: "You are only a priority to yourself." He's generally a little cynical or pessimistic, but it appears that he's right on point.

I believe with all of my heart that closing it off will not get me anywhere I want to be. It may protect me from being used by a boy who thinks I'm pretty, but has no intention of anything besides trying to take a piece of that "beauty". I think so much of my beauty comes from my unrelenting attempts to stay open and accepting. It hurts when accepting someone openly winds up feeling so false on the other end. I've had one, only one, relationship where I felt completely respected and appreciated for being who I am, regardless of the package I come in. Only one.

Our time together was very short but it was full. We talked for hours about everything. It was a totally altruistic relationship. I really appreciated him for who he was, though he was a man who was still torn up by his past. The difference here, with him versus every other guy I've dated, is that he respected me. He respected me enough to be up front, honest and timely in feeling and sharing his feelings with me. He stood up to his sword, vulnerable to me. My upset only existed in the lost ability to know him more. I believe his words and his decision for not seeing me (that way) anymore. I completely understand him, support him and wish him all the luck. I know he deserves whatever he wants. He stands vulnerable and I shielded him instead of attacked.

Though short and probably not as eye-opening to him as it was for me (since he went back to try for his ex), it represents a pivotal experience I will never forget. I told him that he reset my standards for the man I want to be with. What I should have said was that he was my standards, realized . . . standards realized for the first time. I am forever grateful for the respect he showed me, proving the existence of a man with equal openness, who also presented all of the qualities I search for. He let me be a hopeful romantic, instead of a hopeless one.

I will keep standing, baring my soul, hiding behind nothing, in hopes of finding another person who will stand right there with me, baring his soul and hiding behind nothing as well. In the name of love, I am the Nightingale. I bleed for hope in happiness and love.

(Read Oscar Wilde's short story, "The Nightingale and the Rose" if that reference leaves you confused.)

Betrayal

(this post references the "Double Edged Sword" post below)

Betrayal is your edge of your own sword being slashed into you by someone not yourself, leaving you surprised and deeply wounded.

I do not prepare for betrayal. I refuse to live my life wincing from potential pain. I hold my sword still and I press myself to it without a shield or armour. (I like the English spelling better.) A shield represents a shell to hide behind. Armour symbolizes an immobilizing fear. I do not want to live in fear of pain. As horribly violated as I've been, I still choose to hide behind nothing.

My scars vary in depth but I have many. I present my heart as openly during times of war as I do in peace. Vulnerability in this type of raw position makes average attackers stop to think. Reevaluating whether or not a person who holds their sword with such openness, kindness, honesty and faith often lessens an assault own sword. I hope to provide clarity and reflection with my unwavering blades.

Unprovoked acts of hate can never be justified when my sword stands still. The one who still permits himself an envious push to my honest blade, an emotional attack on my open heart, a physical rape of my beautiful body, will never feel the freedom I feel.

Double Edged Sword

Whoever said beauty is a curse . . . touché.

Beauty is a double edged sword. It is a curse and a blessing. One edge can cut you while the other edge can cut everyone you come across. Bloodshed depends on the choice to let it cut or not. We each have our own swords.

Beauty is created and esteemed by society. All art is subjective to opinion, and a human "masterpiece" does not escape this subjection. Society, as a whole, decides what is beautiful. Sadly, mass media manipulates the subjective opinion with objectivity, when in honest, essential truth, beauty is not objective. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

I've experienced blood on both blades of my sword.

The blade closest to me represents my vulnerability. This edge represents how I see the world and how I see myself without the reflection of a mirror. I choose to keep my edge sharp because I choose to see the world with maximum clarity and precision. As I open up, I lacerate myself and expose my truth. I push myself into my sword to maximize my experience of life.

The blade blunt to me, is sharpened toward my world. This blade represents my masterpiece. Confidence and kindness, openness and awareness form this blade outward, but hold it still. Perceived "beauty" adds sharpness to the edge; however, whether or not this blade severs any skin depends on the temper of the perceiver. Any blood on the external blade represents an attack of envy, inaccuracies and miscommunication. I hold my sword still.

Swords can be swung.

I choose to keep my sword steady. I do not wish any harm on anyone. Ever. I do not get mad. I do not get even. Instead, I push myself harder into my own sword to learn, despite the pain. Heartaches, heartbreaks, distress and betrayal, I look for the strength in myself. I feel agony and I feel awe, but I will never lash out.

I don't mind minding my mind.

Live and Be Fearless