Being young is easy, at least when it comes to trying to holla at the opposite sex. The boy and girl would be awkward, but their attraction toward each other, not to mention their raging hormones, eliminated the need for any form of rationalization. Shoot, most of the time it was a matter of scribbling, on a piece of paper: Do you like me? and drawing boxes right next to the words Yes and No. The other party would check the appropriate answer, hand it back, and it was on. Or not.
OK, I never did do that. But however I approached it, it was similarly simplistic. Not so in the adult world.
These days it takes me a long minute to try to be, as they say, more than friends. My heart and mind are constantly warring. When younger, I used to follow my heart all the way, often to the brink of potential self-destruction.
Lately, it’s almost always been mental and not heartfelt, and I sometimes wonder whether that’s a good thing. It seems like I’m always evaluating, weighing, observing, testing. Like, I always think about stuff like:
Would she put up with my sh*t? Would I hers? Is she ambitious enough? Is this destined to be another 3-month-long [or is that 3-week?] relationship? Does she work out? Will she keep working out?
One of my least popular antics is really quite juvenile: Seeing how much I love to drive fast, I can’t help but test it out. Let’s just say I’ve been severely reprimanded for scaring to death some unfortunate souls sitting in the Lancer’s co-driver’s seat. But you see, how a person reacts to potentially disastrous situations speaks volumes.
Many years ago, the 'thorough-est' girl to ever grace my co-driver’s seat would even doze off sometimes while I was hitting triple digits in the dead of night, and I was surprised coz no one ever, EVER, dozes off in my car while I’m in ‘D-Mode,’ as I like to call it. I once asked her how in the world she could doze off while I was going crazy behind the wheel and she said, and I quote:
“Well, I figure you like me well enough not to endanger me.”
She was right.
But to get back on track: Granted, all that rationalization has saved me from real trouble, but I miss how I used to feel, diving head-first into a relationship with reckless abandon. Very rarely am I sprung these days, and even then I slap myself out of it pretty quickly.
So, now that [I’d like to think that] I’m an adult, I can’t very well be handing women scraps of paper scribbled Do you like me? on them; gotta step my game up. I also can’t be telling women stuff like: I like you more than the Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution, more than the Subaru WRX STi. [And Lord knows I love those two whips.] But that would be grossly unromantic. Laughable, even.
Not that there’s someone I’m trying to holla at [yet], but the weather's about to get warmer, and I feel lucky. The trick is, I suspect, to admit to someone that I liked them without scaring them off. But how? I’ve been out of the game so long I’m a little rusty. Shoot, I feel like Spiderman when he quit being Spidey for a spell, then tried to get back.
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