Whoever you think you are, you aren’t.
When my recent odyssey began, I was half of a thirty-year relationship. I was a dog owner. I was dependent on prescription medications. I was sane.
And then all the constructs of my life began to crumble. All the structures that I had erected over the course of my lifetime began to lose footings; I suddenly realized that I had built my entire life on stilts set haphazardly on an overlook. And now it all was beginning to shift, to disintegrate; the cliff over which I’d cantilevered my life had decayed.
Everything I had come to believe that was so self-important was expunged, as though it never existed, as though it had never been. The decimation was absolute.
And then Life began.
Whoever I thought I was, I’m not.
And unlike most, I’m not trying to stop my marbles from rolling off the board game.
I’m not playing marbles any longer.
I was talking to Michelle this morning when she said, “You’re living the dream, Harlan.”
And I started to think about this: For so many years I wondered what it would be like to love as many men as I love now? Not for the tally, but because I have this tremendous capacity to love! I’m brimming with affection and romanticism!
Recently, I thought I was an odd duck. On many gay dating sites, the focus is the “hookup”. I am not a “hookup” type of guy. As I explain, I’m not a sprinter but a marathoner; I prefer conversation before consummation; I enjoy unwrapping my presents slowly, shoulder by shoulder, belt loop by belt loop, zipper tooth by zipper tooth.
I was never afraid of ridicule because of my profile. Because I knew, I knew that men of any age will see my devotion to romance as refreshing. That I have a tremendous capacity for beauty, touch, and wantonness. And I wouldn’t need to convince anyone of anything.
Just be with me, I say, be with me and feel me.