Before moving on to some of the most absolutely pointless shit, at least as it pertains to my life and, therefore, this blog, I believe it necessary to in some ways clarify certain aspects of my most recent, titled: 2026: Chapter 16. Within it there is much to be found that is good and true and real. But the story itself — and the revelations therein — is an incomplete one.
Everything sort of revolved around the idea that it is nice to feel wanted. I could draw a line separating on the one side all the pain and struggle and insecurity of the last year, and on the other there is only confidence and self-assuredness and a general feeling of happiness. One side represents about a year; the only represents about 10 days.
What I’m trying to explain is the difference between being in love with a person and being in love with a feeling. Yes, it is true that my pains and struggles and insecurities and vulnerabilities have revolved around a woman who probably does not want the same thing I do. I can admit as much and still say that there is an unmistakable foundation there, one that is built neither on something as fragile as glass nor as delicate as sand. It sucks to feel so low, and it hurts not getting what I want. But it is real nevertheless.
The alternative — my admission of love for feeling wanted — requires no foundation at all. It is as simple as somebody, or anybody, either walking into my life or falling upon my lap and offering me attention as a master might to a puppy. The drug-like sensation of feeling wanted is not a fake one, but it is cheap. Typically when things are cheap and/or easily acquired and/or easily ascertainable they are not built on anything sustainable and, thus, are not so real after some transient amount of time passes by.
I find this an important distinction to make, because hard times do tend to bear these minor desperations of the heart. I wasn’t aware how poorly I had been managing my emotions vis-a-vis my so-called unrequited love until the first chance I had at some tits and ass being thrown at me by a beautiful woman. I had become so fixated on walking the line, and trying to make it work, that I had no idea badly I wanted, er, needed, the briefest of reminders that I might be exactly where I need to be, and be exactly who I need to be.
Of course, already with this woman who is so pretty and whom makes me feel so wanted the drug-like sensation has worn off. Already I have made my position clear — that it’s not going to happen between us — and already I feel the strange pride I have always been so familiar with that I, Eric, am one of the lucky ones who is able to reject that which is usually so un-reject-able.
I did this knowing full well that such a decision does nothing to make my life any less complicated than it already is. I’m actually giving up a ton of personal leverage, because at the very minimum the sugar-rush of being interested in and exploring the potential of another woman removed the burden of putting all my eggs into my unrequited love. I can’t deny that my change in mood was significant. Some would argue that I was in a pretty ideal sort of situation.
But I’m getting too old to ignore what’s in my heart. Regardless of the two- or five- or ten-percent chance that it actually does work out between myself and my love that is unrequited, I am absolutely certain it will not work out between the Colombian woman and I. Would I have liked to sleep with her? Would I have enjoyed experiencing what I have been so curious of for so many years? Would it have been quite nice to parade around with a trophy that ought to be unobtainable? All of these induce very obvious and particularly low-IQ responses, in my opinion.
I am selfish, however, and so this isn’t even about some weird chivalrous or magnanimous act on my part that tries to convince the audience that I’m actually a decent guy, or that I am operating only with her feelings in mind. It instead has everything to do with me, and my conscience, and the answers that I will have to come up with to the little voice inside of my head. The one that judges all of my movements and decisions. The one who knows my innermost thoughts and desires. The one who happens to be a harsher critic than anyone I have ever met. To him, or it, I wouldn’t sit right taking advantage of this girl who is so utterly infatuated with me.
What I’m going through now, I called it in my last blog an ‘intellectual exercise.’ Because I really have been combing through every phase and every era of my life, trying to decide or figure out a time that I did, or would have done, something similar. Where I had this golden opportunity in front of me and chose to pass it up. Where I could have satisfied all of my carnal wishes as simply as showing up, and breathing, or have it arrive on my doorstep with nothing more than a text message. When have I ever passed this up? Why would I ever pass this up?
Here is what I believe: I’m getting too old to shoot first and ask questions later. I’m getting too old to ask for forgiveness instead of asking for permission. I’m getting too old to play the young man’s game that, in all honesty, I never knew or like learned how to stop playing it. Because it really is such a fun game, and I have always been better than average at it. I played it so long that I forgot I was even playing. I forgot it was even a game.
And women have always responded well to that version of me — the young man who isn’t really all that young of a man anymore but still looks like a young man and acts like a young man and displays all of these so-called boyish qualities and it’s just an objective fact that everyone likes that young stuff. Not nearly enough have ever demanded more from me, even though more from me is exactly what they deserved and exactly what I would have given them.
It should come as no real surprise that my own personal turning point occurred as a direct response to lying to my so-called unrequited love, last October. It sounds hard to believe that I was able to get away with being myself for so long before that. Where my actions didn’t come with consequences. Where my conscience didn’t second-guess me — or at least not strongly enough — to ever make me consider what the hell I was doing. Actions have consequences, as they say. It’s just one of those clichés that was always meant for other people and never applied to me.
Ever since then I have attempted to be more mindful and intentional about the way I move, and although it’s been a little awkward at times — you know, doing such things as being completely honest about how it is I feel and what it is I have done, and am doing — it beats the hell out of lying or misleading or bending the truth such that I am allowed to control every aspect of the narrative. As for the young man’s game: I have tried, and I have mostly succeeded. Yet simultaneously it has gotten me nowhere.
The fact that I experienced such a profound sea change at the hands of somebody in particular makes me feel as if I owe it to myself to see through precisely where it brings me. While I am, admittedly, fully anticipating that destination to be nowhere — aside from me being the loser in a The Winner Takes It All scenario — I have to live it and breathe it and absorb all of the pain and heartache that comes with it.
Only then will I truly be able to reflect and reevaluate what I am doing with my life.
Future Bets 
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