I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.
Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You’re doing things you’ve never done before, and more importantly, you’re Doing Something.
So that’s my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody’s ever made before. Don’t freeze, don’t stop, don’t worry that it isn’t good enough, or it isn’t perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.
Whatever it is you’re scared of doing, Do it.
Make your mistakes, next year and forever.
A little Alan Menken, a little Charles Dickens, and a little loving till we die
*Sarah Kay references
I’ll be waiting. Even when the rolling fields shift to gray and my skin gets flaky with the dying air, I will wait. I will see the color of rose in my windshield, and I will look ahead. I know you have a faster car, but I’ll still drive and meet you halfway if that’s what it takes— if that’s what it takes to close in the gap between us. When your hand is no longer invisible and I can see the trim of your nails and the crooked lines in your palm that, as the old gypsy once told me, would fit the crooked lines of mine. I will wait.
~ Ok, so my friend Myka said I should write— without regard for syntax, grammar, wordstuff— my most honest thoughts on waiting for love, and this is all I came up with. Fragments.
‘It’s like everyone has a central dilemma in their life, and mine was can you be in a committed, mature, loving adult relationship and still get invited to threesomes?’
‘And what’s the answer, Dex?’
‘The answer is no you can’t. Once you’ve worked that out, it all gets a bit simpler.’
‘Nobody else on the horizon?’
‘Don’t you start, Dexter.’
‘Sympathy for the spinster. I’m perfectly content, thank you. And I refuse to be defined by my boyfriend. Or the lack of. Once you decide not to worry about that stuff anymore, dating and relationships and love and all that, it’s like you’re free to get on with real life. And I’ve got my work, and I love that. I’ve got I reckon one more year to really make a go of it.’
That moment I believe Dexter more than I believe Emma.
Twenty-five years I’ve waited, and probably some time more. I cannot endure long queues— the airport, the bank, the convenience store. The only waiting I can, is the one I’ve been doing with you.
You may be the next guy I date, or the one I had a couple years ago. If the latter, at least you’d know I chose to ditch you because I wasn’t sure about you then. If the former, then know that you are the force that compelled me to ditch all of them before.
You may question the way I take risks. Let me tell you instead the way I perceive them.
I took the risk for you the moment I didn’t for them. I wanted to love you with all the bits of my heart not yet devoted to someone else. The greatest risk was: Will you be not someone else? The mainstream question was: Will you be worth it? But I went indie on you and asked myself: Will I be worth it?
I’m not saying be perfect; I am not. Have the courage to pursue me. Buy me time, flowers, chocolates, or plane tickets— I can’t tell you that. But surprise yourself and you’ll surprise me. You don’t have to read all the books I have, even listen to the songs I do. Come to me in your most naked and unashamed, stripped of pretense and fear of rejection. I don’t have to coax you into being a man, because you already are. Just remember that I am a woman. Unlike you on so many levels, but we are bound to be one.
And with all that I am telling you, more things still pressed between the lines, I am a mystery. Unravel me.
I await you.
You are my greatest risk. Even if dying means not meeting you, I’ll live to love you just the same.