November 21, 2000
Out of arms reach…
Remember when you were a child and there was something you wanted and you couldn’t reach for it? Maybe it was a cookie on a table, or a toy put away high up on a shelf.
Didn’t you think that as adults – being out of reach would go away? I always assumed that as I got older, I would be able to reach everything. I found out that it doesn’t, it still happens. More often than not, something we want, something we can see, finds itself out of our reach. Although it’s not the kind of out of reach that can be fixed with a step stool; it’s those things that we can’t control.
Being “out of reach” for people is different. The varieties are endless. For some it might be a new job, grasping a rather difficult task or making the winning touchdown.
For me it’s love.
My dream man is so close, but he’s just out of my arm’s reach. Every time I’ve ever reached out, he just casually steps back, just a tad out of reach. If I move in too quick, he jumps back. If I move too slowly, I lose the opportunity. It just always seems that the more I try to catch him, the further away he gets.
The scary thing is that I’m not so sure exactly what or who my “dream man” is anymore. I used to know exactly what I wanted, how I wanted it and where I wanted it. Now, I seem to be changing my mind like the wind.
I believe that my perfect mate has to be able to stimulate me emotionally, intellectually and physically. The Dick-Boy was my ‘real life dream man’. He comprised everything I’d ever wished for and then some. I’ve had many that were one or two, but until then and since then, he’s the only one that hit all 3. Then my dream abruptly (ha…that’s a laugh) ended and I moved on. What I was left with was a broken heart and ‘fantasy dream man’ that I’ve conjured up.
My ‘fantasy dream man’ is a combination of all of the men that have meant something to me in my life. He’s got EVERY good quality the dick-boy has and NONE of his bad ones. Besides that - he’s has the thoughtfulness of my friend J; he has the zaniness of my friend C; he’s got a sense of humor like the Lamo; he’s got the faithful and dedicated nature of my friend S; he can sing like Van Morrison; he’s got the passion and intensity of Daniel Day Lewis in ‘Last of the Mohicans’; he’s got the sweetness of Lloyd Daubler and he’s got the body of the wrestler Goldberg.
Like I said – Fantasy. Pure, unadulterated, fairytale existence fantasy.
I’ve been changing the way I think as I get older. As mentioned before, I am dedicated to search for the love of my life. I’ve starting trolling for possibilities.
In years past, I’ve always said I’d never live anywhere but in Chicago; in the city – nowhere else. I was firm on that. I’ve met someone recently that has altered my feelings about that. He lives in another state and normally I wouldn’t even bother trying to begin something. Old Fizgig would blow past him and say if he doesn’t live in Wrigleyville, he’s just not worth my time. New Fizgig has a different view. Don’t get me wrong – I’m in no relationship, and the possibility of starting one with this particular man is slim to none, but he has made me think. I cannot dismiss the possibility that my perfect mate might live in Ireland, Wisconsin, Wyoming or Florida . If I find him, how can I NOT entertain the idea of following my dream to where he happens to be? If that means moving, so be it. Life is what we make of it. Destiny is not set in stone.
I have hope that one day I’ll be able to reach out and touch everything I want.
I’m waiting for the day when I reach out to touch him and he molds himself into me.
It’s just a matter of time. After all, I’m still growing up. Until then, I’ll just keep standing on my tiptoes and reaching for the stars.