On knowing...and not knowing

After the fauxprosal and a series of conversations about the future, that familiar feeling starts to creep in - that dreadful feeling of panic, of uncertainty, of pressure. I begin to retreat inside myself, drifting off into moments of silence while Fauxhawk searches for signs of encouragement. And despite my best efforts to encourage him, I am an open book he reads with concern.

- What is going on with you?

- I don’t know. Everything is happening so fast. Proposals, cohabitation, marriage, babies…I’m not ready. I’m not ready. I need more time.

It was an eventful summer, with more emotional upheaval that I could handle. I need to decompress. To illustrate, I give Fauxhawk a brief synopsis while standing on a street corner:

June: With the lovely and improbable Kiwi, but missing Fauxhawk something fierce. Say goodbye to Kiwi, upholding contractual agreement not to get too attached. Job may be in serious jeopardy – corporate take-over looming ominously.

July: Travel solo to Ethiopia and meet Blue Eyes, who immediately becomes a kindred spirit and a wellspring of hope and optimism. Upon my return, ex-boyfriend Dermonster emerges from the shadows to ask if I want to move to Uganda with him, instead of with his current girlfriend. Fauxhawk gets back in touch, hoping to renegotiate a reunion after five months of silence between us. A series of agonizing conversations ensue. Much wringing of hands, weeping, and confusion.

August: I travel to Paris to see Blue Eyes, whose loveliness knows no bounds. I return to New York for more agonizing, wringing of hands, etc. Ultimately, my heart follows Fauxhawk, knowing it’s my last chance.

September: Gut-wrenching conversations with Blue Eyes. Fauxprosal from Fauxhawk. Kiwi breaks contractual agreement with poignant and guilt-inducing email expressing dashed hopes for getting back together.

All the while, I think: There are people in the world experiencing real crises. Strap one on and get some perspective, woman. But I can’t. Sometimes, I just want to press pause on life, put my feet up and get lost in a book with beautiful pictures. Instead, I waffle, navel-gaze, and drive everyone around me completely bonkers.

I am mired in the precarious gray space of ambiguity, trying to claw my way out toward some kind of knowing. I am surrounded by people who “know.”

When it’s right, you’ll know.
I just know about us.

This certainty unnerves me. I am at once drawn to - and repelled by – the idea of certainty about something or someone. The allure, of course, is the comfort and security of knowing. But the mind is slippery - it wants change.

How do you know that what you know now is what you’ll know later?

Is the heart as slippery as the mind?


Images: Nick Bantock