I have always led a charmed existence in that going by my instincts, steer myself down the right path, usually. So the uneasiness that I feel over my present lifestyle unsettles me. I struggle to identify it and can only approximate it to guilt. Feeling guilty for enjoying myself, feeling guilty for doing things differently to others, feeling guilty because I overpaid for something, feeling guilty for not doing more than I can, feeling guilty because I’m dating four or more men at the same time. Even though this lifestyle is no longer censured, I come across articles and news of the devastation that infidelity wreaks on relationships and realise that I am still the anomaly. Most people I know are in or want a monogamous relationship. Being the oddity I question my motives from time to time, and wonder if it’s due to something lacking in me that I am unable to conform. I don’t feel guilt exactly for the way I conduct my affairs but a certain amount of uncertainty, whether there might be a better way to lead my life – these thoughts creep up on me.
The other day this guilt or whatever the unease I felt, raised its periscope and struck me again, causing a slight breathlessness. Over the next few days it sat forward waiting patiently to be addressed. It had been there all along at the back of my mind, lurking, and then it was in plain sight for a fleeting moment. One of my friends gave it a name, but we’d had quite a bit of wine that evening and I forgot to write it down and it was lost again. I have not been able to recall it and so am unable to assess its accuracy.
I’d kept away from this dating blog long enough. What I’m looking for might actually be within my grasp if I had courage enough to face my own shortcomings. But then distracted I lose that strain of thought and the old cowardice returns. And whatever had surfaced a week ago returned into the depths, unidentified, unnamed.
Jan asked me from half a world away yesterday – Why do you feel the need to keep dating? The only too obvious answer is that I’m still looking. Looking for that answer, that name which eludes me still, that will satisfy this hunger that keeps me seeking out man after man. And even though I’ve found one who complements me in bed and a few others who meet me on an intellectual level, yet one more with whom I can be silly and banter and watch all manner of films together and talk endlessly about what we’ve read and the world around us; perhaps I would like to meet the one with whom I will not find impossible to live and who will accept the presence of these others.