Turning points

I went to sleep last night thinking about that girl – let’s call her Eva – I met on Saturday night. I thought a couple of things. I thought she seemed very much my type.

I’ve been with a lot of different women of different types, but it seems to me there are two types I am predominantly drawn to. The first I think of as the Katherine Hepburn type – smart, sassy, a little quirky, a sharp sense of humour and good with words. I’ve never been one for the glamorous types – I can appreciate a Marilyn Monroe say, but she does little for me otherwise. I always used to like watching Katherine Hepburn exchange repartee with the likes of Cary Grant and Spencer Tracy, that whip smart, challenging nature and unconventional good looks. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I always found Hepburn sexy. Give me unconventional any day.

The other type is more classic I guess. It’s epitomised I think by a feminine grace. It’s sort of girly in a way, but not dumb, conventional girly, but rather an independent, free-spirited femininity. Generally she is good looking, though often times there is something unusual in the good looks – the obvious has never turned me on. Combine it with intelligence, engagement, and an earthy zest for life and it’s an alluring package.

Like I said yesterday, of all the women I see and know there is just one – plus Eva – who I like, and she, like Eva, is of this second type. We are Facebook friends only and exchange the odd online conversation, but my aspirations don’t go much further than that. I like her, I figure she likes – and appreciates – me, but for now she is all tied up, and that’s that. And so too is Eva I guess, but it seems different.

Funny, as I write this I can see Eva in my mind – a sensual cast to her features, and a prettiness that verges on the beautiful, her eyes soulful, and, though I saw her immaculately groomed, she seems somewhat windswept in my mind. This relates to the second thing I thought last night. I went back in my memory to those very first moments when we looked at each other and so much seemed to happen. She looked at me as if she knew me, as if she expected me to speak to her. She saw me before I saw her I think, and maybe in that glance she saw something I had to catch up with. It was like she was there, waiting, and so when I opened my mouth and began to speak she accepted me, my words, as if already written.

I flirted with her, but found myself reacting to her in a physical way, and not as you might think. I wonder in what seemed our mutual attraction if there was some kind of physical dichotomy at play. She feminine, delicate, beautiful, me tall, masculine, robust. In those moments together I sensed something that afterwards I put together piece by piece in my mind. I wanted to shelter her. I wanted to be her rock. I wanted for her to take my strength and use it for herself. I wanted to be that blunt edge clearing the way for her. As these thoughts built one upon another they took me to a place unusual for me. I had a moment of divine clarity.

Maybe I extrapolate too much: fantasy runs away with me, but I felt as if I might be more with her. Not that I become better or more complete, or any of that nonsense, but rather that as an individual I become more meaningful with her. Meaningful: that was the word, indeed, it was the concept. Here I have this great strength and resolve and it’s lovely, but it benefits little but myself. There is no meaning to life, no purpose as such. What meaning there is we find in ourselves if we’re lucky enough, and only when we understand how to use what we’ve been given. And, perhaps, why.

I have an IQ over 160. I’m glad of it. It makes me good at puzzles and playing cards, and I guess it helps me professionally (though being a smartarse can be counter-productive). Likewise being tall-ish was an advantage when I still played sport. It helps filling out a suit and generally helpful with people’s perceptions. Like my intelligence though it is a singular thing – as other things are. The benefit of these has been to me as an individual. I’ve lived the life, I’ve travelled the world, I’ve done the work, channelling these things into a narrow focus like a beam attached to my head. No regrets, and grateful for all I have, but as the sole the sole beneficiary of these advantages the value has been halved.

Suddenly it occurs to me that I have gifts that I might share. That might be attractive to others. And suddenly I realise that by sharing them they multiply, they become meaningful in a much border context. And I realise in myself without thinking of it that that’s what I want, a surprise to me, that these things might be made so much more, that there are so many more possibilities. And that’s what I want, what I felt in those moments of mysterious connection, those parts of me open up, rouse, and seek the meaning hitherto unknown. And with her.

This is how it works I guess, I give something for her, and she gives something for me. Together is something more, ours, something new made of old and familiar things, and something beyond my imagination before.

No-one extrapolates like me! Maybe that’s what this is all about – me learning something I should have known long before now. In any case, regardless of what happens, I take this encounter as a positive sign of better things to come.

Wikipedia: much definition: great in quantity, amount, extent, or degree.

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