Getting rid of pretenses and expectations of what a person should or shouldn't do or be, being true to oneself, can be wonderfully freeing and energizing. I used to write a lot in a journal. I loved the freedom to write anything, to be goofy, sappy, or brutally honest. All without judgment. There were times that writing and getting down to what I really thought or felt, sorting through what was gnawing at me, would leave me centered and grounded, even smiling. Writing also taught me that sometimes the strongest, most beautiful thing a person can say is "I'm wrong" or "I don't know."
Journals might seem an odd thing to go rambling on about in a profile, but they might be an analogy for a good relationship. Imagine a space where two people can be themselves, say what they really need to say, where they find acceptance and an energizing freedom to be themselves. I have a vague vision of what could be possible if two people worked at being willing to say and hear the difficult things. ... Not that I do either too well yet. Sometimes speaking up, asserting myself, and saying what I want still feels like disturbing the universe.
As you can probably see by now, I'm an introvert.
I'm also drawn to tranquil situations. Twilight tends to be my favorite time of day. It has an inherent permission to relax. I have great memories of sitting on a mountain overlook on summer evenings after a day of hiking, breathing in the warm, fragrant earthy scents, savoring the iridescent twilight colors. It was so relaxing I stayed for hours into the night. Hearing an owl or seeing a shooting star made it more magical. It's times like those that my breathing slows, my mind becomes clear, and it's easy to smile and laugh. It feels so right. I want more of those experiences, even if alone, but with the right person would be good too.
Not that I'm all zen. I'm pretty industrious too. I churn out a lot of work, both at my job and at home. One long-term obsession has been creating my own conservatory, of sorts. I've spent many weekends sawing, sanding, staining, right up until bedtime. (I'd love to have my own home someday and build a true conservatory.)
In some ways, my mellow side compensates for having an anxious, worrying mind in other situations. It's hard to explain here. I'm fairly normal, but anxiety and fear really shaped me early on in life. It's made me appreciate people who've tasted enough of struggle or sorrow to have learned compassion. I dislike sharp tongues and unpredictable moods. There are people who care passionately about struggles on the other side of the world but who can't extend their empathy across gender lines to someone a few feet away.
My diet is semi-vegetarian. Since the early 1990s, the only meat I've eaten is a little fish now and then. (By "a little fish," I mean a small amount, not an actual little fish, like a guppy.)
It's never too far from my mind that I live a middle-class life in a wealthy, relatively peaceful society and that, for now, I'm in good health. What great luck, like winning a lottery. Of all the billions of years the universe has been around and will be around, isn't it amazing that right now, this little window of time, also happens to be when I'm alive and healthy? I'd like to savor this. (Of course, that bigger perspective doesn't keep me from complaining if I get called for jury duty or if it rains on my vacation.)
Thanks for reading.