Lessons in Love: I thought writing about my one-night stands would be easy...
I was wrong.
After reading the latest from my book proposal, my agent suggested another essay about a sexual mishap. “About you bumbling something up,” he said.
“Easy, no problem,” I thought. After all, that was basically my sexual M.O. for…well, more years than I care to admit.
I had the perfect essay in mind — in fact, it was already written years ago for a now defunct publication, all about how I’ve never had a one night stand before. (You know the one — I shared it in my first-ever From the Archives post, see below).
I knew I had to do some rewriting, but I thought — as all writers so naively do — that it would be a cake walk. Just a few edits and trims, no biggie.
Well, it’s turning out to be the hardest essay I’ve written out of the bunch for this entire proposal. Considering the essay concerned two men who are basically honorable mentions in the catalogue of the men who I let into my bed (and maybe heart) I couldn’t figure out why.
Then I was reminded of my most recent summer fling.
“Fling” is probably not the right term. Not only because it was chaste and innocent (but, to paraphrase Britney, not that innocent), but because, while it didn’t last long (as the word ‘fling’ generally implies), its impact on my life was both small and momentous, and reminded me of the magical circuitry that always surrounds us. You know, like a predestined domino effect, a butterfly effect. That type of thing.
For example, if I hadn’t met this man, I don’t know if I would have ended a very long situationship with one of the great loves of my life.
Our fling might have been short-lived, and, no, I didn’t love him, but he helped me experience what it felt to be adored, and to receive the kind of consistent attention and genuine excitement that I had been hungry for a very long time. He made me see what was possible for me if I just let something in, and let something go.
And while it ended rather suddenly and dramatically (that’s a whole other can of worms that I’ll write about one day) I told him, in a very sympathetic voice note, that we can walk away knowing we met each other to exchange this idea of hope. The hope of something, of someone, new. The hope that we can have exactly what we want, one day.
Because of him, I now carry with me a renewed sense of hope when it comes to love and relationships.
“I’m so grateful to have met you” were the last words I said to the great love, after ending the situationship, and I meant it. Because despite the hurt and the loss, there was love and there were lessons, so many lessons.
Because of him, I now carry with me the lesson of love, what it means to love, how to love, including self-love.
Then, the other night, I manifested a wonderful evening with a stranger who was sitting next to me at a bar (I’ll write about how exactly I did that in another post soon). We talked for hours about our pets, travel, birth order, astrology, OAC (IYKYK), everything and anything. In so many ways, he was the perfect candidate for a one-night stand. But, in true Brianne fashion, we ended the evening…with a handshake.
Because of him, I now carry with me the anticipation and excitement for the unknown, and the belief that the Universe is supporting me.
It’s only recently, as I embarked further on my self-healing journey, where I’ve come to embody and believe that every encounter we have with another, especially within the context of intimacy, provides us with a lesson. One of the greatest gifts of being a writer, and one who gets to, wants to, write about her own life, is having the opportunity to turn over each pebble and rock in my life, inspecting each and every crevice for that lesson that has set me on the path to where I am now — no matter how painful and uncomfortable it might be (and, believe me, it can be gnarly).
So as I struggle with this essay, I see that I am ignoring what it is really underneath the story. It’s not about the debacle of the one-night stands. It’s not about how douchey these guys were. It’s not even about the (mediocre) sex. It’s about what I now carry with me because of these encounters, what next step they pushed me on after it was all said and done.
Now, as I write this, I still don’t know what is my lesson in all of this. However, I do know that as I pull up these fucking rocks on my computer screen in my word document, I really do think I would rather end an evening with a handshake from a charming stranger than embark on lukewarm sex with a friend any day.
But let me finish this essay and enjoy the sizzling season of Leo, and get back to you on that.