Crucial Minutiae

In Arianna Huffington’s latest book, Becoming Fearless, she talks about the importance for all of us–but particularly women–to overcome the dubious, naysayers within (for me, these voices are usually reminiscent of my 5th grade math teacher) and trust in our own greatness. Today she is inspiring a campaign of blogging about fearless experiences and I’d like to add one of my moments to the mix. It’s also a love story, so that’s fun.

When I met N. I swooned at first sight. He was humble and thoughtful and kind and gorgeous and we listened to all of the same music. Our second night hanging out became morning as we walked around a rainy Columbia campus talking about anything–everything suddenly fascinating and unsaid. I knew he was smitten when, on my doorstep, covered in pink light, he handed me his brand new Mos Def CD to borrow. It was kind of like our first kiss.

But as soon as things got really good, he disappeared. Now anyone who knows N. knows that his disappearance is actually a very natural state of affairs. His way of being in the world has a very in-the-moment quality to it. If he’s beside you, he is beside you–completely and without distraction. If he’s not beside you, you’re never totally sure when you will see him next.

But for a girl newly in love this was completely disconcerting. I tried to play hard to get. I tried to push him out of my mind. But, of course, Mos’ new CD was so damn good and I kept listening to it and he let me “borrow” that copy, so didn’t that suggest a return?

I did fearful things to cope at first–I went out on a date with an investment banker. It was horrible. He thought Terry McMillan wrote Beloved.

I confronted N., pushing him further into his shell. He told me he was scared, scared that he would screw it up, thought it was safer we stay friends and then he wouldn’t lose me. (N., at the time, was pretty full of fear himself.)

But then I did something that took a lot of, excuse the expression, balls. I did something completely and totally fearless. I wrote a poem, oh-so-subtely titled “Fear if our Prison,” invited him to come hear me read, and performed it in front of a packed crowd for a spoken word slam on campus. (Ms. Felice Belle actually won that slam.) This was a major slow clap moment.

I can’t find the poem. I certainly can’t remember what it said. But essentially it was call to action to mister N. that if he didn’t go for it, he would never know.

He did and now we know. Seven years later, absent of fear, full of a love more sustaining and complex and fun than I ever could have imagined…we know.

This entry was posted on Friday, April 27th, 2007 at 8:06 am and is filed under Relationships. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.