The Saint

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara
Before our call I always give her a headsup..

Dear Sara,
photo used as illustration. Dutch actor Daan Schuurmans played a character based on The Saint, in the Dutch series “Heer en Meester”.

All I can say is:
I was never there to judge his looks.
But if I had been there to ensure my letters went to an attractive man, I would not have been disappointed.
My response would have consisted of praising everything that was holy on this earth. With a few swear words.
That is how stunningly beautiful he was.

The reason I tracked down who he was, was because I was feeling extremely vulnerable;
I needed something to be able to continue our conversation.
The way I took the edge off was by allowing myself to know with whom I was dealing with and if everything he had told me, with regard to his identity, in particular his gender, had been true.
I didn’t even need to know if things he may have kept from me, or things he may have said as self-protection or to lower expectations were true;
He didn’t owe me the truth.
The only thing I needed to know, was if the little he had revealed with regard to his identity, was true.
And that’s when I found out that it was not just true, but that he was so exceptionally beautiful I could see why someone would choose to hide behind a Twitter account.
The reason I was able to find out who he was, is because he asked to take the conversation to email. Maybe others have access to the Twitter account, I don’t know.
Only his first email had his full name, then it disappeared. And because of that I initially ignored it because he obviously had not wanted me to see it.
It still took until my crisis of faith, before I allowed myself to give it a serious search.
It hasn’t changed what we have, except that it has provided me with just that tiny nudge of security, that allows me to offer him full freedom, because I know he’s a real person.
Let’s say 99% certain, but I ll take the risk of the 1% of me not being right or even being conned.

And although I didn’t dig any deeper, because as soon as I saw who he was, I backed off; Seeing his identity did the trick.
I was no longer worried for my own safety, or about my vulnerability.
Instead he became someone whom I would protect
Just like I ve always protected my lover….
You could call this my affair 2.0, because I ve learned from my years with Mr.Big.
And I ve gotten even better at making a connection into something beautiful and I’ve also grown more appreciative of what it is these two men, Mr.Big and the man I will call The Saint because his formal ways remind me of a Dutch series that was based on The Saint, can bring that is so rare and so very much needed:
They bring me inspiration.
They also rock my world, frustrate me with their unavailability, and the fear that one word from me, or one thought from them, can make the bubble pop and end it all.
They re forces that both derail me, yet also ground me, when once again I learn I can plant my feet just as readily on the decks of a ship in a stormy sea.
And of course my ego takes pride in knowing other women would not have been able to do that, and would have fled the ship.
Of course.
But this game of growing stronger is not the primary reason these men are so valuable to me.
It is because they make me work.
Whether it is because of the instability they provide, and me solving that by rooting deeper into my art? 
Or because of the more likely scenario that when sex is involved, my whole life starts shifting, all my art is affected but in the most positive way imaginable?
I m like Picasso where the different periods of my work can be attributed to different men.
This is such a man.
So what can I say, Sara? 
Life is sweet. Life is very darn sweet. And uncertain, and maddening, and frustrating, and abundant, rich. And I cannot avoid the thought that somehow behind all the coincidence and all the unlikely events chained together;
There is a divine order of things.
That things are happening, to me and to my art, that could not have happened any other way.
So in many ways this email is no different from the last one I sent you; 
I still have the plan to publish all my books in 2020 – 
with the addition that I am now already familiar with the publisher’s software, and my first book has a test copy ordered. And I m going to speed it up to having all my books ready (test copies ordered) in November. 
I still plan on going all in with my art/yoga under my real name, as of January 2021;
With the addition that I have ended my lease of the yoga studio.
I made that decision after I realized that I want to be “out there”, connecting over yoga, over art, over rock music; And that current complications with regard to the (unused) yoga space and the politics around proper heating, are not contributing to getting my work out there.
Besides, the house I sent you, the home I will have when I make millions, has three livings tied together, something in Europe only hotels or mansions have. Maybe in America there are more houses where they have multiple family rooms, but here it is very rare.
The only way to not drown in that space of my million dollar condo is to dedicate the center living to being a yoga space, where I can do my own practice and teach friends in this yoga studio in my own home.
I no longer need an external yoga space.
What also has not changed is that I still have phobias as a response to being socially active and I sleep poorly. The night has become my least favorite part of the day. There was a week, around the time I met The Saint, when I slept like a baby.
But it was short lived.
I wake up multiple times a night, have nightmares and headaches seem to be lurking just around the corner.
I still can’t envision a future with Covid, where I no longer let my sex life be influenced by it. I m counting on it to leave.
But realistically speaking I know I have to man up and solve this.
I have to claim back my true sexuality, which simply isn’t the safe boyfriend girlfriend monogamy thing, unless my boyfriend would be not-monogamous and takes care of my inner baby-koala before he drifts away into the night off to new adventures.
I need to use this time to accept my sexuality requires me to let go of the need to be certain.
That if I want my sex life back I cannot afford a desire to not be infected with Covid and have to live with the embarrassment of having to tell all your contacts.
I feel I ll one day rip the band-aid.
But for now, every long day among people, or every social event longer than a few hours, comes with the risk of the migraines returning.
So nothing has changed, but I feel I have held the course for two weeks.
And considering the world we’re living in;
That’s one hell of an accomplishment.


An unexamined life is not worth living


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