What If I Committed?

...and I'm for real this time.

In March, I went on my first date in well over a year. It awakened the feral teenager in me, set free by a hot date and an even hotter make-out in the front seat of a family CR-V. Not long after, a friend, Carley, published a piece I’d written in The Retreat Print Paper under the theme of Reclamation. I mailed a printed copy of that light-smut-inspired article all the way to Los Angeles, where it landed in the mailbox of the man who had taken me out.

The paper kept a small flame lit throughout the year. Every few months we’d reconnect sending letters and pictures through the mail. In one, on an old napkin, he wrote, let’s make the ladies proud, a nod to the comments left on that indelible date.

In the first week of December, I received a text saying he’d be back in the province visiting family the week of my birthday. Turns out I do kiss and tell, because here I am telling you: ladies, he made you proud. I was wined and dined, then taken back to my home, where we played for hours.

At midnight, lying on the couch in our birthday suits, the clock struck twelve and I was thirty-one. The next morning we sipped coffee in front of the fire, fumbling through the chords of Joni’s A Case of You on my dulcimer. I added the finishing touches to a felted mouse I’d made for a friend.

Eventually, we pulled on our boots and I led him to an old-growth maple in the field beside my house. We said good morning to the trees while my dog ran wild circles through the snow. Propped up by a few branches, he set up his phone to take a photo of the three of us, and for a brief moment, it felt like we were playing house.

Between those trees, I found myself accepting that I am ready to commit to a version of this. Those fifteen hours were sweet, tender, and feral. To have a hand to reach for when mine were cold, to be adorned with affection, to feel held without asking, it felt so natural. And yet, while the physical intimacy was undeniable, I know that the version I desire holds more: more emotional availability, proximity and time. Leading up to this, I had told a friend that this flame felt hot in a dangerous way, a black diamond sign pointing to a perfect curation for fantasy. Fantasy is a fine place to play, but living there full-time eventually leads to madness.

In the past, I would tumble into that madness, chasing what could be, only to be left disappointed when reality didn’t match. Unconsciously, I sought out these dynamics, knowing somewhere deep down they wouldn’t lead to what I truly desired, in love, in work, in life, and yet I still yearned. For a while, that inevitable letdown made me stop dreaming altogether. But over the last few years, I’ve returned to that dream state, this time paired with discernment, self-awareness and trust, not just in the thing bigger than us all, but in mostly importantly myself as well.

What if I could expand the sensations of those fifteen hours into a larger, partnered life? What if I could translate that energy into my creative work, into art, and into projects I feel called to revisit? What if I could cultivate the financial abundance to support those desires and make them tangible?

Anticipating a New Year, I ask myself: What if I committed fully to knowing that love, life, creativity, and the care of my body and heart are all genuinely available to me? What if I trusted that I could build a career and a life that adds value to the land, community, and people around me? That I could fall madly, deeply, and healthily in love, travel, explore, expand, and grow alongside someone equally expansive?

The day after my birthday, on Solstice, I returned to those trees, placing six candles in the snow and against the bark, and spoke my commitment aloud to them. In the moonlit snowfall, I felt my desire and declaration for more fully received.

As we shed the layers like a snake, I ask: what are you committing to?

with love,
always

Kami