Compared to hindsight, retrospect seems rounder…

Ahem. I’m clearing my literary throat. I’m cracking my neuron knuckles (those magical ones that make my blind fingers whack just the right key). I’m preparing myself to do some cold turkey blogging. I’m just gonna blurt. I think it’s going to be about the whole ball of man diet wax, and how it waned so… poetically, to an end. I think I’m going to blather on about the end of that, and about this tall pinnacle or precipice I am standing on now, catching my breath, ready to dive in to this next chapter, this next year, this leap, this unknown but confident sparkling future that lies before me now…

I have told my beautiful young daughter, and also my old-soul son, that we are responsible for our own hearts. You can never hold someone else responsible for breaking your heart. No one has the ability to reach into you, inside of you, and hurt your heart. Your heart only becomes vulnerable when you put it out there, and that takes such bravery. When we are young, maybe it takes more ignorance (naivete)… but I think we are only ignorant about how brave we are being when we barge around with our hearts held out. But we have to be very very wise and very cautious with our hearts. We are responsible for continuing to offer it to a person that lies to us, and says or does things that hurt us. Continuing to take your own heart out and give it again and again to a person that is hurting you… you alone must take the responsibility for that. Of course there is risk and pain in all relationships, it can be like a dance, the love and the fear and the pain and forgiveness, but both hearts must dance together. Love is not a solo show and it’s not a game with only one player. Your heart is not a football. In a healthy relationship, every heart is a team, love is the ball, and the field is round… so when anyone carries the love over the goal line, everybody wins. When it’s sucky, you foolishly give your heart away, and some guy uses it as a plaything, a football, kicking it and throwing it around to score for himself. And all you get out of that is an empty feeling and a bashed up heart that takes years to heal. The guy or girl that plays football with your heart is not going to be around to pick up your broken pieces and to coddle your poor bruised and battered heart… you get to do that. And it sucks. And it’s not easy. And it takes a very long time.

We use our hearts every day, all day, to feel things, to navigate around our daily lives, and to show people close to us that we love them. When it is bruised and battered, everything hurts, everything is distorted, life changes for us. Giving your heart to someone is a very risky business. The consequences can be devastating. Be careful with your heart. Be wise, but be brave, you are responsible for it, so guard it and give your love wisely and know how valuable it is when you do!

My broken heart and blame is what led me to the Man Diet. I needed to get to the taking of responsibility, to the finding the missing pieces to my puzzle, and realizing they never fell out of me… they were inside of me the whole time. That’s just it… our hearts break inside of us, they only feel like they are outside of us because I think sometimes we wish it were that easy. If we could really give our heart to a person, that would be it, all they could ever ask for, we wouldn’t have to do anything else, we could just get on with the unchecked rest of our “list”. Then we could make them responsible for every little bump in the relationship… because they’re holding the heart. They did it. Them, them, them.

That’s kinda where I find myself right now. Realizing that I’m in a healthy (on his part, at least) relationship for the very first time in my life. My honey (honey, honey!) is so sweet, so impossibly patient (it’s ridiculous, truly), but I am finding myself once again to be quite surprisingly covert in my operations. I keep being surprised at the sneaky ways I am trying to sabotage my own happiness, and his. I want to just say, “Right, here’s my heart, don’t fuck it up, buddy!”. But I know better than that. I know that it doesn’t work that way. Because now I’m owning it, I’m taking responsibility for my heart. I get to leave my heart in my chest this time. It’s better there. I’m keeping my heart, and giving my love. I will give my love freely and bravely and with as much wisdom as I can stand.

In retrospect, maybe the roundness of my hind blocks my view in hindsight. Do girls with narrow asses have this problem?