I Hold Your Dream, You Hold My Dream
When I first returned from the mesa, I saw very little of Ric. He came and went. We were both content with ourselves and loving toward one another, and I felt such pleasure seeing him buoyant and industrious at 57 after years of doing responsible but unfulfilling work, knowing he had found his place in the world. But there was that first evening…It was 10pm. He had departed twelve hours earlier and I hadn’t seen him since, except for a brief breezing through when he took a restorative nap after the law office before heading off to ballet. Shouldn’t he want to spend this first evening after a six week absence in my precious company? I was beginning to feel slighted, taken for granted, not loved. Then, as if taking a kettle that had just begun to boil off the stove, I simply stopped my old boring story. I put my keys and cell phone in my pocket and went for a night amble.
Passing the Mirror
I passed the mirror. There I was, in a gray t-shirt, dark blue nylon hiking pants and enormous hiking boots, an outfit so anonymous that, as a Bohemian artist, I’d never tolerated it, but also one that had never flattered me sufficiently. Now I looked ‘right’. I was the woman the movie camera slides over in the preamble but will increasingly linger on as the plot unfolds, eventually filling more frames, moving in closer, because she is the protagonist. She won’t be beautifully coiffed, but her action will be the meat of the story and the source of growing magnetism. Because this is what reflected in that fleeting glance, I relaxed and walked outside, the resentment dismissed. To not be constantly dissatisfied with myself was a jab of inner sweet.
I’m Glad You Have a Dream
Being able to soothe myself out of a ‘poor me’ wallow is something I had to learn well on the mesa. It makes me capable of fully loving Ric, to be part of his satisfaction, to be supportive. It turns out–and I am sad to say that because I was so caught up in interior complaints it was not always so–this is fun! He is so marvelous. He thinks I’m pretty great too. We cheerlead one another, champion the other’s passions and, so far, can keep each other company.
I appreciate Ric’s moral support as I gallivant off for weeks at a time into my wilderness adventures. He doesn’t ask me to curtail or sacrifice my dreams. (And vice versa.) In my past experience, most men either wanted to control and change my world or would lose interest in my world as punishment for me not being at hand ready to mother them. These men could not respect that I had dreams which I did not want them to influence and shape, and yet I did want witness and encouragement. I was perfectly willing to give this in return, and did in abundance.
Feminine = Relational, Masculine = Autonomous?
So I suppose now I am grateful to get what every human should give and get in love. Obviously I’m stumbling over this. Because it is expected that a man should have his adventures then come home and be loved by his woman. Or to stay away in his cave while she patiently and uncomplainingly waits for him at the homestead. All that is just fine. He is a man. And all this makes him more of a man. Women’s identity, on the other hand, is frequently defined by being ‘in relation’ to others. This boils down to ‘being there’ for someone else. Being autonomous is not an attribute of the Feminine, and having someone love us and desire us when we are engaged in an autonomous enterprise is virtually unheard of. There is no female archetype for this. Yet this is what I am doing now.
Perhaps most relationships are, at their core, mutual mothering and keeping the wolf at bay. But the one Ric and I are working on includes this mantra: I Hold Your Dream, You Hold My Dream. We each love our own life and love one another for having a life and an adventure.
I Hold Your Dream, You Hold My Dream. To me this is an essential aspect of loving relationship. What about you?
Thank you for reading and for sharing this with friends.
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