It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon…
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day.
And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
The Invitation, by Oriah Mountain Dreamer
The reason I’m starting this post with this poem is that this poem, which led to a book, was once referred to (by an ex partner of the author) as the longest ever singles advert he’d ever read. Which brings me to this next point - which hopefully I can mention in just this Blog… then get on with other things…
This week, whilst looking at a job site, for creatives (that’d be Creative Pool) I found an ad for single creatives (that’d be Date A Creative) which I found intriguing, particularly since I’m single and creative. So I signed up for free, only to find that the better features are only available if you pay money. Ah, yes, creative types have money, don’t they? No more starving poets in the streets, although I’ve been assured that there are plenty of starving screenwriters.
From Date A Creative I considered what I’d been considering for a while. My perfect partner would most likely be a geek, someone with a playful attitude to ‘stuff’, someone a good distance away from corporate suits, media types and wealthy headstrong mouthy ladies looking for a wealthy headstrong mouthy bloke to marry. So I did a quick web search for a dating site that might cater for the geek, and found, amongst others, GeekDate. Which doesn’t look too bad, but I suspect GeekDate is just a name on a larger site that may include a whole bunch of non-geeks. But, ah well, it’s better than Date A Creative, and feels like a step in the right direction.
I have yet to try Match.com, although I have friends that have used it and swear by it.
Anyhow, this poking around on dating sites has prompted a little whining on my behalf on Twitter and in emails (apologies - hopefully it was little enough), which prompted the entirely relevent “As a last desperate resort, I believe there are women in the real world” comment I got. And it’s true, previously I’ve met people through social groups. Or, if I’m honest, loitering around pubs where they’ve been working as barmaids in two instances.
But, well, Twitter as a social group has yet to get me linked up with anyone, and most of my real life friends are in happy couplings (and there’s a whole bunch more than there were when I was last single, back in 2004) and have yet to introduce me single (desperate) friends. I always imagined that I’d be the bumbling old socially inept fool that friends would end up looking for a perfect match for, but I’ve been in a long term relationship and have two kids - suddenly the idea that I’ll be lonely in my old age doesn’t quite have the same cold promise.
If I’m honest it’s because I look around and see lots of people in lovely little relationships. And, for the first time in ages, I’m looking around and seeing various cute ladies around and not feeling incredibly guilty.
Here’s hoping that the festive period, and sprigs of mistletoe help usher in a happier new year.
Copied and pasted from my Tumblr account, til I can get this blog (without bells, whistles and randomlinks) set up.
In additional news, in the four days since I posted this elsewhere, I've had a little contact with someone. It's early days but it's not so lonely days any more. Even the suggestion of interest is enough to get me in a good mood and getting on with things more poitively.