Brave Enough To Be Bliss

Chapter 13 — Coming Undone

“Abandon the idea of being fearless. Instead, walk directly into your fears with your values as your guide toward what matters to you. Courage is not the absence of fear; courage is fear walking.” Susan David For about six months, John and I had been working from my home office a couple days each week on a big project. It took a lot of concentration, and working from home provided a quiet atmosphere with fewer interruptions throughout the day. We worked very well together. He would often pick up breakfast and bring it over, then we would either order in or pick up lunch, or just eat whatever snacks I had. It was very comfortable. And when we finished working for the day, we had lots of great talks after. It felt good, healthy, and happy. At one point he was thinking through some things that I couldn’t help him with, so I was answering emails while I was talking on the phone, then working on something for the project, then answering texts and so on. He looked over in amazement at me and sai d, “How do you do that? Just go back and forth answering all kinds of questions on vastly different topics while you’re also answering emails or texts. It’s so much going on all at the same time.” To me, it’s just how I worked and didn’t seem like a big deal at all. That’s the way work was. I was always moving around from one thing to the next with lots of interruptions. And similarly, when we talked about his area of expertise in medical imaging, I would see images and be amazed that he could see anything at all. I truly enjoyed hearing him describe what he was seeing in the image and was equally amazed and impressed with how he did what he did. Everything was different. There hadn’t been a question in my mind for quite some time that he cared deeply for me. I knew he wasn’t able to share his feelings for me verbally yet , and most of the time, I was OK with that. And we had both learned not to slam the door when we got scared and had to leave for a while. Instead, it felt like we always left the door cracked open, so entering again was smoother and easier. There was an emerging level of trust and a deepening level of intimacy. It was good. We were good. The ability to spend so many hours working together, sharing meals, sometimes going out for a meal and then all the hours after work talking in the kitchen led to an even closer, deeper relationship. Sometimes we wouldn’t even realize quite how late it had gotten when he headed home. It felt like sometimes he didn’t even want to go home, but not because we were having sex. Sex was very rare during those six months, and I only remember one occasion. We were meeting friends for dinner, so around 4 p.m. we called it a day for work, and he reached out for my hand as we headed upstairs to my bedroom. Similar to not being able to compare pain, it’s not like I can identify which time we made love was the best as, in my mind, they would all be tied for first. But this late afternoon delight was one of the most intimate. It’s hard for me to even put into words what made it more intimate because it didn’t have anything to do with our physical interaction. It was simply the lack of any barrier that existed between our hearts and souls. It was as if fear was absent and all that was left was love. And it was beautiful and slow and deep and warm and safe. We had no alcohol to dull our senses, and we didn’t need to hide anything. It was just the two of us, without any of our demons along to disrupt the moment. We were connected in every way. Later as we laid there resting, he looked at the time, and said we should shower and then he ’d better head home to change clothes. Then he’d come back with his friend to pick me up. In the shower, I was standing under the water, and he reached for the shampoo. At first, I wasn’t sure what he was doing because he has a shaved head . He must have seen the confusion on my face and softly said, “Turn around, and I’ll wash your hair for you.” And I thought I might just melt and slide right down the drain. I had never loved him more than I did at that moment. This man who had touched me in every way possible, every square inch of my body, had never touched me more intimately than he did when I allowed him to wash my hair.

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