Relating

The last 4 years of my life have been an exploration of romantic relationships and the different stages of their lifespans. In that time, I’ve participated in the dismantling of a nearly 20-year marriage. I’ve dived in with some enthusiasm into the online world of 21st century dating. I went through a really weird period that I understood at the time to be an open relationship, but now I realize was just dating multiple people at one time. I’ve had one nearly year-long relationship, one nearly 3-year relationship, and I’ve quadrupled the total number of women with whom I’ve had sex across my lifetime. That’s a pretty good 4 years.

In that time, I’ve twice gone through the deeply upsetting turmoil of breakups, including the divorce and its legal distribution of wealth, and property, and offspring, as well as its shattering of the decades-old idea that I would be married for the rest of my life. I’ve twice gone through the giddy and intoxicating journey of falling in love, with all of its wild and ludicrous joy.

Now, though, I’m seeking something else, a different kind of relationship to complement my romantic one. Twice now, I’ve lost circles of friends that accompanied those romantic relationships I’ve lost. In some cases, I think that’s good. I’ve jettisoned some relationships that weren’t healthy for me, that weren’t equal in what each person brought to it. I have a history of giving more than I get, because I didn’t think I was worth more. But now, I’m struggling to make new adult friends, and it isn’t so easy at 47, when families, and friends, and routines, and communities, are all already well established for my peer group.

I haven’t written here in something like 8 months, and I’ve taken a hiatus from the Caterpillar Goo podcast for several months too. There is a complacency that has come with peace and happiness. And I am peaceful and happy. I feel more comfortable with who I am, less anxious about who I’m trying to be, than any other time in my life. But comfortable and complacent aren’t that far apart. That complacency has added more than a few pounds to my belly, too. I’m working at breaking out of that complacency, at returning to regular workouts and improving my diet. And I’m trying to connect with more human beings beyond my small, lovely, treasured circle in which I’ve found so much joy.

For the last 3 months or so, I’ve been attending gatherings of the Men’s Fellowship Network, and a few weeks ago, I attended a weekend retreat with them. I appreciate this network because it challenges the stereotype that men are not built to be communicative or vulnerable. Normalizing the archetype of the compassionate and connected man is important and dovetails well with a wide range of other spiritual and social movements. It’s a counter-narrative that’s necessary.

I volunteered and attended some sessions at the New Story Festival this weekend. It was a gathering of “artists, activists, teachers, practitioners for spiritual/emotional health & wholeness, along with numerous other social innovators to share their creativity, practices, and stories.” The men’s network and the church at which it meets were both exhibitors at the festival, and both in the sessions and while volunteering at the men’s booth, I made and witnessed the making of some surprising and exciting connections. It was a joy, and I want to more of that.

I’ve also gone to services twice now at the church at which the network meets. I am at least as surprised as anyone else who knows me that I can now say the sentence, “I’ve been going to church.” It’s not a sentence I ever thought would come out of my mouth. The first time I went was immediately after the weekend retreat, when I was emotional and energized and open. I wasn’t ready for the weekend to end, and many of the men were church members who were going straight from the retreat to the Sunday service, so I joined them. Coming from that retreat, I found the service emotional, too. The second time was yesterday, and it didn’t resonate with me quite so powerfully. I am drawn to the community aspects of the church, and the opportunities it provides to volunteer and be of service. I don’t have much money to donate to causes I admire, but I have my time, and myself, to offer, and churches seem to be major hubs in the wheels of community service.

I am glad I’ve found this church and these people, and the men’s network. The Venn diagram between them has a large overlap. I love that in the Sunday sermons, though they probably don’t call them sermond in a hippie Progressive church, they are just as likely to quote Rimbaud, or Rilke, or Margaret Mead, as they are to quote scripture. Some of it makes me deeply uncomfortable, though. The words “God” and “Jesus” and “grace” all close me down. Praying and singing hymns, even Progressive, New Age non-traditional hymns, make me feel false, like an impostor. And the intensity, the fervor, of the ministers feels a bit put on, a bit like show biz. It’s a well-funded church, and the services have high production values. They live stream to Facebook. They invite us all to check in on social media before the service and tag the church. I don’t know. I am getting more and more open to vibes, to wavelengths, to Spirit, to Universe, to synchronicity and serendipity. But I am resistant to God. I am resistant to God, but open to human connection. My resistance leads me to poke holes in the God stuff, but I’m still going, still trying to connect. To relate. And I feel good about that.