It’s Sunday and I’ve been up since 5:30 am. I didn’t sleep well. I woke up every hour or two throughout the night. When I get up, I make a pot of coffee. I make two waffles. I watch the sky lighten. I write about watching the sky. I read a poem or two. I write about how all the poets I’m currently enjoying are women. At 6:30, I feed the dog. I wait a few minutes, then put my contact lenses in and take the dog for a walk. When we pass houses that have dogs and open windows, the dogs bark at us. When we pass a yard with two corgis in it, they run back and forth along the fence-line barking at us. My dog looks to me for a treat as he passes the corgis in silence. Back at the house, I leave the harness on the dog so he can sit out back with me. I practice Spanish for 15 minutes. I claim first place in the weekly competition. It’ll be reclaimed by someone else. I pour a second cup of coffee. I grab a few books, a notebook, a pen, and my coffee and slide out on to the back deck. The dog comes out with me. He sniffs the air and stands next to me wanting butt scratches. He settles in his spot against the siding of the house next to the door.
These are all facts. The background start to a quiet day. This is how the thoughts progress.
I think about the bond my dog and I have developed. I think about how our first few months were challenging. Back then, he would have barked and pulled when he saw the Corgis. There were times that he nipped at me – warning bites. He’s gotten into two fights. I still don’t fully trust him around other dogs. He wasn’t socialized when I got him and he’s only slightly better socialized now. We live alone. It’s hard to socialize a dog alone. I think, “but we’ve come so far.” I’ve worked with him and turned this sometimes distrusting and sometimes aggressive dog into a very loyal, obedient, and loving (in his own way) pup. He’s not for everyone. I think about the time required to build trust, to build a relationship. I think about whether or not that’s justification for staying. I write in my notebook, “when continuing on is really just a sunk-cost fallacy.” I think, “but we’ve come so far” is no reason to stay or keep going.
I stop thinking these things. Probably not abruptly, but I can’t remember the transition. It’s a little before 8 am. It’s quiet and cool. There’s a slight breeze. The sky is marbled gray and silver with clouds. The sun plays hide and seek and birds are everywhere. It smells like trees and grass and dirt. I’m breathing deep. I’m slow to drink my coffee. I’m lost in the light and lightness of it all.
These are more facts. This is how the thoughts progress.
I think this would be nice with someone else. I think this (my early morning time) is, in a way, one of my sanctuaries. I don’t let many people into my sanctuaries. I think of a woman I used to date. Like any reasonable human being, she’d have been sleeping at 5:30 on a Sunday. She’d probably be sleeping at 8 am on a Sunday while I’m having my second cup of coffee. I wonder, is this what she meant when she said she hated the way we lived together? I think about the time I woke her up to go see the sunrise over the ocean. I went almost every morning the entire week we were at the shore together. I think about how we had different routines for when we ate breakfast. I liked eating breakfast with her. I liked her sleepy slowness in the morning. I almost always woke up earlier then. I got into the habit of eating a little later so that we could eat together. I imagine that she or some future partner might still be sleeping or just waking up and joining me out here on the deck. I’ve already had my breakfast. I’m on my second cup of coffee. Maybe this is every partner. Maybe I’m the one who is out of sync. I’m pretty sure we’d both think this morning quiet time together was nice.
It is nice. This is how the thoughts progress.
We make time for the things we enjoy. If we’re intentional about it, we build our days around what’s important. I don’t share my sanctuaries with very many people. With a slightly self-righteous twinge, I think – this is a gift I would be giving. If it’s refused, if nobody takes me up on the offer, would resentment build… I don’t really finish that thought. Would she be ok if I always did my own thing? Would she feel left out? Would she feel I was intentionally not including her? Would we get into that all-too-familiar spiral when people feel left out and people get tired of waiting? I think about the time this other woman and I trained for a half-marathon together. She would often tell me to go on and run ahead without her. She missed the point of why I was running with her in the first place. I didn’t really give a shit about the training or the half-marathon. I don’t really care about when I eat my breakfast – it’s a habit I’m happy to adjust.
We make time for the things that are important. How much time is enough time? What if staying in bed longer, what if a slow rise and lazing around is important. That sounds nice too. I was up at 5:30 this morning. Unless I fell back asleep, I don’t know that I could have stayed in bed until 8. I think about those couples who sleep in separate rooms. I think about those couples who have to schedule time to be together. I think about those couples who spend lots of time together, but mostly by accident, mostly because they have nothing else to do and they happen to be doing it in the same room or house. I want to live life more deliberately. I want us to choose each other. I want us to look at each other and say, “this is really nice.”
It’s later now. It’s still nice out. I can’t write nearly as fast as I think. I can only record some of my thinking. A small fraction of it. My thinking has to be cleaned up and put in order for it to make sense. Not only that, I keep going back to revise – which means adding thoughts that weren’t there originally. The dog went inside a long time ago. I didn’t take the harness off. A blue jay hops along the gutter. Is blue jay one word or two? Two. I grab my cup for one more sip of coffee. Nothing left. I forgot I finished it. When the sun comes out, it’s hard to see the screen.
The sun and the sky and the birds and the dog and the coffee – those are all facts. This is how the thoughts progress.
Relationships take time. How much time is enough? Understanding each other’s sacred spaces is risky. Sharing is intoxicating business. I’d have welcomed sharing every sunrise, just not with everyone – only the people who are allowed in. Are there rules inside the sanctuary? Is this space always open to visitors? We make time for the things that are important. It’s helpful if we can meet each other with equal measure and curiosity and levels of compromise. Is this what she meant when she said she hated the way we lived together? Generosity is letting other people in. Are the opposites also true? Is keeping people out selfish? Does not making time for something necessarily mean it’s not important?
When the sun comes out, it’s intense and hot. The dog comes to the screen door, but doesn’t want to come out. He wants me to come in. Someone working on their truck one street over is revving their engine. It sounds like they’re spinning their wheels. I re-read what I’ve written. It sounds like I’m spinning my wheels. I come inside so I can see the screen without the glare.
This is how the thoughts progress.
I started talking with a different/new woman on the dating app. Generally speaking, I don’t reach out to people unless they reach out to me. She had reached out to me first. A surprising number of people have. Under normal circumstances, I’d be interested in quite a few of them. I haven’t moved yet. These are not normal circumstances. In fact, next week I have an interview for a job in a different city – still California. This makes planning a move difficult. It’d be helpful to have a 100% certain destination. Starting conversations under these circumstances seems premature. But then again, what do I know – maybe a good conversation in which a friendship builds (without proximity and meeting quickly) is the better way to go. I’ve always done it the other way around – meeting quickly that is. Depending on how one defines “having worked out” none of these things have worked out. I think it’s probably a bad idea to start dating when I move. I should probably take some time to adjust and build my new life before I meet up with people. I’ll be developing new routines and new sanctuaries. They probably won’t be terribly different from my current routines and current sanctuaries. How can I decide what I’d like to share if I don’t know what I have? Getting to know people can be fun, but sometimes I just want to jump to the part where we’re familiar enough to sit outside and enjoy each other’s company (fire pit in the evening, coffee in the morning, breakfast, lunch, dinner, beach, hike, conversation, silence, sleeping in, doing things together and separately). I’ve had that a few times before. It takes a lot of trial and error before I even get to the point where I’d want to share half of those things with someone else on a regular basis. After which comes the hard work of interests and schedules and needs matching up. I don’t let many people into my sanctuary. But we’ve come so far. At this point, is continuing on just a sunk-cost fallacy?
This is how the thoughts progress.