I got a letter from an old friend the other day with permission to share with my readers. I cleaned up her spelling a bit and present this to you now. If it sounds like my voice, it is because I cleaned up her verbiage a bit, too.
For the longest time I thought I was the easiest woman to get along with on the planet. I’m the one all the guys tell their dating stories to because I usually commiserate with the male side of the story. I am fiercely single. I do not see myself as the neurotic female who brings up uncomfortable issues at midnight while lying in bed naked with her lover. I never ask a man what he’s thinking (largely because I don’t care). It would be out of the question to profess anything but appreciation for my lover, and would not entertain the notion of saddling a man with something silly like falling in love or asking for a commitment.
I am the “cool chick”; at least until recently. Until now I have not been attached to the outcome of my romantic relationships. Something, or rather some one, has changed that for me and I find myself in unfamiliar territory. I care.
I find that with this wonderful care comes instability, passion, neuroticism, love, hate, frailty, distrust, and the most unattractive behavior.
I will absolutely bring up uncomfortable issues at midnight while my unsuspecting lover lies naked and vulnerable. I have to fight not to ask what he’s thinking. And frankly, I can wake up delighted with my romantic situation, be positive it’s all rubbish by mid day, and convinced we are star crossed lovers before bed. I can do this without ever speaking to him.
No, I was not the “cool chick”. I was the “safe chick”. I was hoping you would publish this so all my vulnerable gal pals who make asses of themselves every day know I finally get it, and I’m sorry I judged them for being “chicks”.
Your letter is being published on my website and I sincerely hope chicks around the world not only read it, but “get it!”
Yours in the Tao,