Erik Erikson's Stages of Psychosocial Development
I left my role confusion in the New Mexican desert, setting it free with a whispered blessing before I got on the plane back home to Florida. I know the sort of man I want to be. I'm becoming him every day. But now there's a long-ignored question knocking at my door, begging to be let in and listened to:
To the extent that I allow myself to believe in 'meant to be' (which is to say, not at all), will I go this life alone, or in twos? Will I be happier on my own, or at someone's side?
I was in love once. We almost got engaged. I haven't dated since.
In the aftermath, I went through the usual rigmarole: shock, numbness, loss of appetite, being drunk a lot, some amazing spoken-word poetry, a drunken hook-up with emotional consequences and a general reshuffling of priorities and inclinations. I've moved past the desperation and flailing attempts to find another to fill the gap left by that last one; I've moved past the aggressively-defended solitude and late nights on the porch with music and intoxicants of varying degrees of potency and legality; I've moved past blaming others for my problems.
Above all, to thine own self be true.
I'm happy alone, and I doubt I'd be happier otherwise. I got shit going on in my life that makes it easy to push such issues to the back burner. I got friends, a job, a semi-regular volunteer gig, a garden, a bike, a decent set of cookware. I don't know what things are going to be like in a year. I don't know even if I'll be in the country, for all I know.
But the problem with putting problems on the back burner is that you might burn the soup and render the whole thing inedible, and leave you with a huge mess to clean up afterwards. I've not to much taken a vow of celibacy, as decided that being alone is simply better for me than the alternative. I've slept alone for more than a year. It's been even longer since I last said 'I love you' to anyone that's not immediate family. It's easy to imagine how this might be like this forever, at my age.
I shove women into the friends zone before they have a chance to do the same to me. The guys at work wonder why I don't look at women like they do, straining their necks to get a better look. They wonder why I don't participate in the great orgy that is the restaurant industry. I think they're making asses of themselves. And I still look, when no one else is looking. Covertly, I'm an ass and legs man.
I listen to my female friends talk about their relationships and crushes, how this one's always 'the one'. I think they're idiots, because I was once 'the one' to somebody, too. I will never date a girl that thinks I'm 'the one'. I hide behind my glorious introversion, make excuses for how busy I am, tell myself I'm not all that interested anyway.
And deep down, I wonder if I'm full of shit. Experience tells me I usually am.