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I’m often told that I make people feel welcomed, at ease, and like the most special person in the world. This is because for me, getting lost in a connection is a gift.
I want to be caught, or perhaps temporarily held in thrall, by something elusive and unnameable. These moments feel uncommon; they feel precious. I've appointed myself their nurturer. So I'm curious — what makes it fit just right, what clicks us into place, what grants us surrender? How did we find ourselves bursting, at this moment, with electric life?
Perhaps we both greet the world with genuine smiles; perhaps we goad each other on, generous, delighting in one another's joy. Maybe we share the satisfaction of challenging ourselves and continually trouncing our personal records. Perhaps some common hunger compels us toward uncovering hidden worlds. Or perhaps the fortune of being born with a curious mind allows us to keep savoring the unsolvable mystery. Maybe your want for something sumptuous takes you places, and you've cultivated a nervous system that can tolerate both your happiness and your sorrow. Or perhaps this is all a work in progress. Maybe you like to get lost too and you can relate to finding something otherwise unreachable in the company of another, some dynamism that awakens you more fully in your being.
I'd love for us to carve out our own private refuge from the conventional. I love outings where we can teach each other about our passions, I love conversations so good they make us giddy and voracious, I love taking in art and music alongside a smart new friend, I love dancing and dizzily collapsing into the fuzzy embrace of a beloved album, and I love cozy nights spent indoors, all cashmere, marshmallows, and cinematic glow. Perhaps we can explore the little delights of the world together and make a memory neither of us will want to misplace.
ON A DAY OFF, YOU'D LIKELY FIND ME:
— whipping around city streets and nature trails on my trusty road bike
— lounging in the sun or under a tree, reading novels and essays (something like Bulgakov or Morrison)
— escaping to the mountains to work on my carving and soak in jacuzzis
— perfecting my ribeye (reverse-sear medium-rare, of course!)
— waltzing my cat around my apartment while blasting Prince or Bowie
— strolling out of a matinee movie into the sunshine, disoriented and buzzing with feeling
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