We exist always in a state of mutuality. To deny this is an assault against fundamental reality. It is to live as I live some days, railing against the reality of my entangled life.
Sometimes The Unease is self-inflicted. It is a not-wanting to be pinned by the arms of liberating love (love is only liberating if we open our veins to it).
I am starting my period next week; PMS-ing does this to me. It presents me with at least a dozen rational reasons not to leech myself to love; it reminds me that there are a thousand ways to lose a thing. The Unease nips lightly on my skin like a friendly army of termites. Friendly, no. Intimate. I know the tactics well. The questioning, the distancing, the desperation for affirmation from those who, supposedly, love me.
I used to Google flights to foreign countries, imagine renting a falling-apart apartment that is stricken, oft-times, with the wan daylight of an ailing city-- that is stricken with light all over the plates and plants and haphazard living wares of a space crammed with creativity. I must live all these lives which are racketing inside me.
I don't do that anymore. I'm too old (28, but married, and mother of a one-year-old). This flightiness is no longer charming. So I bury my brain in books. I sit pretty and write hard, pounding out truth from a pen (a quote, I think, from my book).
But there is much joy here, because there is much joy everywhere (a paraphrase of Rilke). For example, today I went on a walk with my daughter. Lately, I have even eaten peaches. Remember that these are neither small nor insignificant things.