wildaspie

There are different elements or facets in relationships that require trust. Perhaps one of the most vital and least recognized is the trust it takes to be able to let go and vent when one is in a state of high emotion.

To be able to let go and speak freely – or act freely – in times of high emotion is a gift that can be given to those one cares about. But first the person has to be able to trust that the listener will be able to simply listen without judgment or reacting defensively (and certainly not reacting offensively).

For as long as I can remember, other people have considered me to be a good listener, and felt comfortable, even on short acquaintance, to exhibit that level of trust in me. And I am pleased to say I have yet to let anyone down in that regard. It’s not always easy, to be sure – sometimes reactions rise quick, or advice presses itself to be voiced when no advice was asked for. But I have never been afraid of challenge, and I appreciate that those I care about trust me so much.

In truth, I also gain from these seemingly one-sided expressions; which each exercise of trust I am reminded that I do indeed have the strength and resolve to be there for those who need me, no matter how I may doubt myself. They can see my strength when I might feel weak, and rely on me when I feel I cannot trust myself.

We found each other last autumn.

It’s simple enough to say I have never met anyone like him.  But that is deceptively simple.

We have a lot in common, and are similar in many ways.  And in another person, those similarities would probably cause problems: many times I have found that when some one shares certain personality traits with me, there is no room for give-and-take.  Those very similarities force distance rather than forging closeness.

Perhaps it is the difference in our ages that makes it possible for me to overcome that potential pitfall.  I have always dated older (sometimes very much older) than myself, in part because I am drawn to the wisdom and self-assurance that comes with age and experience.  But “my” technopunk T is younger than me, which puts me in the rare position of being the older, maybe wiser one.

Although he modestly self-depreciates his intellect, he has that same spark of brilliance I can’t help but respond to; his skill with computers is intuitive to the point of technomancy.  He pursues knowledge and reads as voraciously as I do – and despite our affection for each other he never lets me get away with sloppy logic or compromises his own point of view simply to be “nice.”

Neither of us has any interest in the pabulum of pointless social prattle.  Sometimes we spend hours in discussion, ranging widely in topic and tone; other times we simply “hang out,” each of us mostly focused on our own projects but keeping communication open, even if it is mostly an exchange of smiles capped by hugs goodnight.

And sometimes, there are the intense, sweet interludes of physical affection.  All this is more than I could have ever hoped for in a friend and lover; and yet, I am further blessed by the fact that he is – to use the vernacular – damn hawt.

I try not to think too much about it in general … I am just thankful each day to have a friend like him, and thankful too when we can be “friends with benefits” … Now and then I do find myself contemplating a future wherein he has come to join my family, and somehow I manage to cheat the odds again and have a happily ever after with two wonderful men and my children.  But those thoughts are always brief, and fleeting.

If nothing else, I have learned that the fastest way to ruin happiness is to overthink it.

I am not sure when, exactly, I realized I have an IQ fetish.  I always liked smart people – in grade school I preferred the company of the “nerds” and “geeks” and was pretty much the undisputed queen of them all.  Sometime after I started dating in high school, though, I realized I also preferred to date intelligent people – given the choice between a pretty face and a quick mind, I would take the quick mind, and to hell with what other people thought of my choices.

The boy I remember most fondly from those years was a socially-awkward, genius-level college sophomore who was sweet and doting to a starry-eyed high-school freshman; and though we never shared more than a few kisses, I spent countless happy hours snuggled in his arms, reading a novel as he did his homework.

More recently, I have had some emotionally-intense, though physically-exempt, relationships with other men that are similarly brilliant.  But strange things happened with the first, R – that is to say, it was in a way sadly predictable.  After a long period of getting to know one another and enjoying each other’s company, he basically vanished for nine months, and now … Now and then he sends me an long and rambling email about books he has been reading, thoughts he has been thinking, practices he is pursuing – but nary a word to ask how I am, what I have been up to, or a mention of any feeling at all.

The second, J, seemed to forget over a matter of two weeks that I have a brain in my head, or a name to be called by; his last few attempts to contact me have consisted of, “Hey sexy, kiss-kiss-kiss.”

Then I met the techno-punk … and that is an exploration for another day.