On Not Being Able To Write

An excerpt....

p.2

... without having found the maturity my "self" needed, I was in danger of falling in love with being in love. This is the kind of love that does not last... young, immature, physical love that frightens the bejeezus out of me.

It is shallow and fleeting, and most often based on physical attraction and chemistry. It is the kind of love tha makes you feel wonderful for a moment in time, but leaves you feeling empty inside. You find yourself wondering how you could have been so wrong about something that felt so right.

kind of love of which frightens me deeply. I am so afraid of that it exists only in titles and words; an ideal that can never be met.

There is an additional danger in that for me... becauise the idea of being lioved unconditionally is so incredibly foreign, it is a concept that I simply cannot that I simply cannot seem to grasp.

I needed to feel self-worth, self-sefficacy, and self-reliance , long before I can begin to cahrter waters unknown.

and of its self so that I can go into a relationship knowing that I bring as much, if not more than I can take. In my loneliness, the thing I "need" and feel tempted to take, is time. This is time that I can easily find myself lost in my words (such as now) or in his or her absence, I find myself needing something, anything, from anyone who is willing to divert my attention from the realities I would rather not see.

In my work, I can forget about everything else. I can feel strong, and I can feel whole, I can feel beautiful, and I can feel love.

You once asked me what makes me feel beautiful.

I do not know what the "right" answer was to that question, but I do remember all th eobvious answers that went racing through my mind.

The obvious ones I thought you wanted to hear... and I remember thinking about the word, "beauty." By far one of the most subjective words in the English language.

I say this for several reason: we have all heard the common adages... beauty is in the eye of the beholder, or beauty isonly skin deep; yet knowing that, why do we spend so much time, money, and energy trying to



why not only do distinction of the physical, external beauty we see in magazines and soap operas, is opposed to the inner beauty we hear of on Oprah. I told you that I feel most beautiful in the Theatre class I TAd for last spring.

We discussed the association between beauty, knowledge, and power. And although I am unsure if I could express the sentiments at the time, I can now clearly see that sitting in front of that Theatre, I did not need to rely on the external.

"So this is what a grad student looks like," you told me upon our first meeting at the Houlihans in Long Island back in the summerof '94. You commented how the boys would eat me up at law school. Isn't that the point?

I do not wish to compromise your peace in any way. Whether you realize this or not, I write these words mostly for myself, as they clearly reflect the ways that I have tried not to define myself through and by my relationships with others, since I believe that reality and identity is something that comes from within. Perhaps that is why I am intrigued by the social context of evaluation, since it is in perpetual conflict with my belief in subjective reality. [On Not Being Able To Write]

So to learn of your incredible distaste for me, which, from my understanding is quite strong; there exists an incredible discrepancy in the relationship we may have had at one point, and your subjective interpretation of events. Though I need no clarification, I will not pretend as though there is no motive beneath this contact.

So in the world of business where there a'int no such thing as a free lunch, you have something I need. I am willing to pay for your time, but not your affections.

[i][Not to be confused with Relative Experience]