A Kind of Half Sleep

It’s Sunday morning. I wake up slowly, and the apartment is warm and full of birdsong. My big male cat, Taku, is doing the combo meow-purr that tells me he’s simultaneously hungry and itching to get outside. I am neither of those things, so I lay in bed for a little while longer and invite candle-lit flickers of the night before to lull me back into a kind of half-sleep.

I wasn’t sure it was a date. We’d done the dating thing briefly, years ago, and the only thing that stopped us from moving forward back then (as far as I was concerned) was bad timing. Ever since we’ve been friendly. I continued to feel interest and attraction. I suspect that he did too, but the timing continued to be off. 

The night before, he came to see my new apartment. I spent a lot of time getting ready, and that ritual of preparation and pampering always puts me into the sweetest state of sensuality. We ordered take out. He looked great (he has impeccable fashion sense) and he smelled like fresh water and line-dried laundry.

I like so many things about him, and I’m curious to know about the way he thinks and feels through the world. It quickly became clear that it was, in fact a date. There were things about him I’d forgotten that I was delighted to rediscover. I had a thoroughly wonderful time, and could have made it a very late night. I did, in fact, stay up much later after he headed home.

And now it’s Sunday morning. I’m in the dreamy space of ‘what happens next’. I throw on a minimal amount of clothing because the sun blasts directly into the kitchen window. I fry some eggs, make some coffee and reheat some garlic naan from the night before. This feels like heaven; the birds, the warmth of the sun on my freckled shoulders, the ease of having nothing on the agenda today. 

I wonder if I would have been happy to share this with him, or if I’m happier savouring it all alone?

Taku is perched in the window, taught as a wire and chirping at the birds. He wants so badly to get out there. To be fully immersed in the wild wonder. He never hunts, but he loves to feel and smell it all. We both want something we can’t quite put our finger on.

My new place is coming together slowly and sweetly. It’s a personal sanctuary from corner to corner. I received the best compliment the other night: it looks enchanted, like the set of a fairytale. That whimsy and quirky elegance is exactly what I’m going for. After my first mug of coffee, I pad upstairs and collect the evidence of my maybe-definitely-date. Will he message me today? Will we do any of it again? 

I know I won’t reach out first. It’s part of my commitment to me, and my commitment to living as much in my feminine energy as I can. I am soft and open. I am ready to receive. I’m here to witness what is meant for me and observe how it shows up in my life. I will not chase, but I will gladly yield when it feels sweet, and soft and safe.

Maybe what I want isn’t the way things are done anymore? I see a trend towards brief encounters at a certain level with a variety of participants, even in the midst of this pandemic.  I’ve done that. I find it lacking. I want deep, and real. I want something that will compliment my expansion, where I can carry on my spiritual exploration on a deep, physical level. I can only do that with one person at a time. 

Dating when you’re full to overflowing is the only way. Fill yourself until you’re spilling over before you look to add to the well.

I settle at my desk and work on my novel edits until the French press is empty. Then I walk along the river for an hour listening to an audio book. The day is like a dream; I am beholden only to my whims. 

My good friend Paje, introduced me to Human Design way back at the beginning of this COVID life (I’m a 6/2 Reflector). Learning about my design type has been nothing short of life-changing. Paje tells me that in order to live authentically in my design, I must release expectations and open to surprise. At first, I believed this to mean I had to release my expectations of other people. 

On this particular Sunday, I realize that I must, first and foremost, release my expectations of myself. I may know where I’d like to end up, but it’s impossible to know exactly how I’ll get there, or with whom (if there’s to be a consort in this story). Sunday is a surrender to surprise, and in this exercise  I learn that the unexpected can only appear when I release my desire to know the outcome and surrender to the divine feminine flow.

I am soft and open. I am ready to receive.