What I do want

I want to sleep. Sleep for hours and hours, maybe even a whole day, or at least until late in the morning, so that when I wake and look out my window from my bed, the sun has been poured across the bay, making it a glistening, white pool.

I want to meditate upon waking each day, sing a song or two, and pray.

I want to write a little, or a lot, every day, so that the words stay fluid and free in my fingers.

I want to honor my recently declared three month fast from shoe and clothes buying. I want people to see through the economic privilege needed to even declare such a fast, and see why I am really doing this. I want to prove to myself that I have enough, that no new pair of shoes or new jacket will make my wardrobe feel complete, and that the completeness I seek in my wardrobe is just a desire misplaced.

I want to uncover the places in me that lack cohesion, coordination, unity.

I want to spoon more Chocolate Hazelnut Fudge Coconut Bliss Ice Cream into my mouth, except that, at the moment, I want more to honor this body temple of mine, to honor the organs that do not need more food tonight. I want this honoring to last me until bedtime, through tomorrow, and I want to be forever plagued by the ability to honor my body's (and my heart's) needs for nourishment.

I want to solo the song that broke me open back in 2007 when I was so weary with resisting faith, and made me believe in more than just myself. I want to stand up in front of a packed house at my church, with my choir behind me singing their hearts out. I want to sing of letting go, of surrender, of just letting it be. I want the nervousness that claws inside my throat and makes my singing less strong and clear and beautiful to be transformed by the vision of my ministry into freedom in song.

I want the my muscles in my lower back to stop seizing and shooting out tendrils of pain.

I want to be witty and smart and assured, sorta like a straight Rachel Maddow.

I want the wars to end, for the Supreme Court to make gay marriage legal, and for health care reform, including a public option, to pass and show all the naysayers it's possible to honor everyone's right to health care without the world falling apart.

I want to tell the truth. I want to be free of the endless mind-fucking that not telling the truth does to me.

I want to tell the truth: You made a list of the ten main qualities you want in a partner just before you met me. Passionate, happy, intelligent, maternal, humorous, to name a few. You made a list of my core qualities. I want you to see that you drew me into your life. The truth I want to tell is this: I don't think it's possible to make a list of what you want in a partner and then dictate the time line of when the physical manifestation of this list shows up. I want to say: There's a disconnect between not being sure about having kids when "maternal" is on your list.

This is more truth I want to tell: I have never in all my years of dating connected intellectually so well with a man. When you quote to me lines from great literature, or read to me in bed passages from a book that a deceased friend of yours wrote, and I can hear the tears haunting the words, or you consider thoughtfully my distaste for the word "ghetto" without getting defensive, or call me to get my input on an assignment or discussion questions for your students, I weary of, once again telling my heart not to leap into my throat and force me to say the thing I'm afraid is "too much" for you, that I can't keep seeing you and not grow to love you. I want you to know that when you told me you watched me while I made dinner the other night, I lied and said I didn't notice. I want to believe that there's something to the warmth and tenderness in your stare that has to do with love.

The truth is: I'm not one of those women who can just live only in this moment, and not think about where this is all going, unless I am being honest about where I am, in this moment.

Because I want to be treasured, I want you to fall in love with me because of who I am and what I bring to your life, not because I am here now, a comfortable fit.

I want to be a truth teller.

I want to say all this, and let the words fall where they may. I want to be that bold.

I want to think it's possible that you are falling in love with me as much as I think you may be too full of stories about your past relationships, age, and doubt that will prevent you from seeing that you've got what you want, and that I've got what I want, right here.

I want, more than anything right now, to stop wishing you would text me, or call me, and reassure me. Just as no man has ever been able to do before you, I know that THAT kind of reassurance, that I am treasured and adored and loved will mean nothing if I don't already treasure, adore, and love who I am.

I want to remember that you can't read my mind, you don't know how I feel unless I tell you, and that you appreciate when I am honest with you. I want to tell you, and actually mean it, that I want you to be honest with me about where you're at.

I want to not make too many excuses about how busy we both are to avoid this conversation.

I want to have the sweet, lovely, light quality to our interactions untainted by my insecurities.

I want to stop wanting and start experiencing the things I want.