vulnerability

The researcher and storyteller Brene Brown says that living wholeheartedly means fully investing yourself in life (in endeavors, in relationships, etc.) and allowing yourself to be vulnerable, even while knowing, and acknowledging, that you have no guarantee of success.  And I feel that vulnerability today, as I create a space for (anonymous) public exposure of my relationship and my oh-so-vulnerable investment in Gerard, the man that I love.

Imagine us, if you will.  We are young enough to still call ourselves young, but old enough to know that that won't be the case for too much longer.  We cohabit in a tiny, rundown cave of an apartment in a vibrant neighborhood of an amazing American city.  We have a dog, a piano, and matching laptops.  We've painted our kitchen yellow.

When we first met and started dating, it was our sexual chemistry that seemed the most promising element of our burgeoning love affair.  I had a kinky past, and Gerard was experienced in sexual adventure and seduction.  We came together like magnets, and we each had the kinds of sexual behaviors and proclivities that the other craved.  As we continued to date, we would sometimes find that socializing with other couples was difficult because the sexual energy between us was so powerful that it overwhelmed or embarrassed our friends.

These days... well, we both laugh and shake our heads with amazement when we acknowledge that we seem to have hit a point where sex isn't one of the most important elements of our relationship anymore.  It's strange, and sometimes challenging.  We both want to keep having amazing sex, and our days are full of meaningful, affectionate and often sexual touches and caresses.  But I know when we moved in together six months ago we both thought we'd be having sex more often than we are.  It's not disgraceful, but we could definitely be taking advantage of each other a lot more often.

I think that closeness, intimacy, and vulnerability have challenged us.  When I think back to our early relationship, I remember that, once we'd been seeing each other long enough to realize we had something sustainably special, Gerard completely pulled away.  He kept me at arm's length emotionally for months before he was ready to give in and fall in love.  After that, we ebbed and flowed with our closeness and fear.  We talked about living together for over a year before I finally said, "Move in or I'm moving on."  With that push, Gerard was reluctantly willing to go ahead-- but then we both reeled emotionally from the change and the resulting feelings in each of us.  Six months later, I think we're just finally getting used to it.  And we're both glad that we did it-- we're closer and less scared of our love now that we share a space and a life.

Big questions loom ahead, of course-- the biggest and most vulnerable ones of all.  From many directions, Gerard and I are both receiving information that suggests big commitments for our future.  Our careers are in flux... there's some indication that we might do well to relocate to a completely different part of the country... our siblings are settling down and family life feels more appealing... and I've decided I want a baby.

But just because the signs point us this way doesn't mean that we're ready!  I want us to be ready to get married and go off birth control and buy a property with a baby room... but we're not, not on any level.  Though... perhaps we are ready to start working on being ready.  And that is where this blog begins-- right in that place where we acknowledge our vulnerability, prepare to confront it, and wait to see what happens.