Picking Prudent Love

My Path Towards Providence (7m read)

I apologize for the delay in this week’s post. Unexpected life changes kept me occupied last week, I appreciate your patience.

“You must be really picky,” the girl with celestial eyes said softly, her gaze catching what little light remained between us. We sat across from each other on dark indigo zafus, the tatami mat grounding our quiet encounter. Shadows cloaked her frame, but her eyes remained luminous.

“Prickly?” I mumbled, puzzled.

“Not prickly, picky!” she empathically clarified, her Iberian accent softening the correction as we shared a small laugh.

“Picky?”

“You said you’ve only had a few meaningful romantic relationships in your life, and that it takes your heart years to heal from each one,” she said, lifting a stone-colored teacup, sculpted as if from starfire, to her softly shimmering lips. A swirl of rising steam veiled her face as she took a sip of lemon-ginger rooibos tea, her enchanting eyes never breaking contact.

“The story I tell myself is that I am bad at relationships so I haven’t thought of myself as picky for a long time. Who am I comparing myself against? My friends? What is the benchmark?” I responded, though the question Am I picky? still lingered in my thoughts.

Peruvian Don Juan

A few months ago, I met a man I will call George, his essence reminded me of George Clooney: ruggedly handsome, disarmingly charming, playfully charismatic with soft vulnerable eyes. He carried a stoic sorrow in his shoulders. There was a dark and heavy timbre in his voice. It had been years since I’d met a man who possessed both a rugged sexual masculine edge and a warm, open vulnerability.

We began spending time together, developing a natural chemistry that felt oddly cinematic — something between an Ocean’s movie camaraderie and old-school, brotherly rapport.

Upon first meeting George, it’s clear that he loves women, many women, most women. All women? He’s a true ladies’ man, a Latin Lothario, a Peruvian Don Juan, though it seems to come from a genuine place. His way of loving is completely different from mine, more sexual, and, from what I can tell (and by his own admission), rooted in a deep, obsessive longing. He speaks openly about his desire for meaningful connection, for a relationship, and yet he finds it nearly impossible to resist rushing into physical intimacy.

One breezy sunny summer afternoon at Alamo Square Park, George told me he admired my patience. He said he respected the way I take my time getting to know people, especially women, how I allow a deeper connection to unfold, and how I don’t rush into sexual attraction even when there’s a spark.

I heard something simpler. I hear that I am picky. There it is again. I had to now ask myself, Am I picky?

Absolutely. The more important question was, Is my being picky born from protection or prudence?

All or Nothing

My writer friend

Evie Gray

recently introduced me to the world of Human Design. While reading through my chart, I discovered something that landed with unexpected clarity: I’m designed to decide from my gut, from the sacral, the seat of instinct. For so long, I’d been ashamed of just how deeply I am a slave to my emotions. I love fiercely, unapologetically and with my whole heart.

This holds true for all of my biggest life decisions, not just when it comes to love. I am cursed with the compulsion to pour every last drop of me into my passions.

When I attach, I drop anchor, which makes letting go feel like tearing away a part of myself.

In love, there’s no halfway for me. It’s total devotion or none at all. If you go, we go. When I am in, I’m all in.

Wielding Love

The dreamer in me carelessly clings to the belief that I contain a boundless capacity for love. But experience has revealed an equally difficult truth: all in love comes with risk. Recklessness requires protection to hedge against the likelihood of inevitable heartbreak, in the currency of time and suffering.

Over three decades, I’ve known three great loves. The arithmetic is sobering: ten years to recover, to rebuild, to bloom again.

Maturation has come late for me. I only have so many heartbreaks in me. My heart is not impervious, not invincible. There is a limit to the number of times I can be broken before the pieces lose their shape and no longer fit back together. There are only so many times I can retreat to the Lazarus pool and rise again, restored to myself.

I need to protect myself from… myself which means I feel the need to protect others from me as well.

Dystychiphobia (n.) Fear Of Hurting Others

I recently listened to a podcast featuring father and son duo Dr. Rick and Forrest Hanson, where they explored the topic of self-sabotage in depth. Dr. Rick Hanson shared that many of his clients struggle with dating due to a fear of hurting others. Hearing this hit hard. I immediately felt a wave of relief. I’ve often held back early in dating, not because I don’t care, but because I care so much, I’m terrified of causing harm.

A little over a decade ago, I began dating with a new approach: authentically, intentionally, and with a willingness to end things early, perhaps prematurely, if I wasn’t feeling it, before the other person’s feelings grew too deep or involved. It mirrored a lesson I’d learned in trading: cut your losses short and let your winners run.

Still, I always feel a hangover of guilt and shame after ending things. I often feel a compulsion to offer friendship, even if isn’t sincere. I hate the idea that I may hurt someone, even unintentionally. No matter how gently I end things, I’m left feeling like the bad guy. It’s a feeling that clashes deeply with how I see myself, as someone who lives in integrity, who tries to do the right thing, a good person.

Dear Providence

Yes, I am afraid — afraid of my own love, unleashed, unconstrained, and dangerously unsafe not just to others, but also to myself.

In the meantime, I keep my heart still, a flame sheltered in hearthstone, waiting for another soul whose safe embrace unleashes a flow of fury. Another possessed with discretion, who chooses love with eyes wide open to truth, whose courage is quiet but resolute, whose presence is sacrosanct, heart anchored to honesty, mind clear in devotion. And when I look into their eyes, I need to see my mind’s prominence dissolve and feel the full expanse of intimacy, the complete and combined constellation of our beings: dark and light, ache and awe, sorrow and splendor, wound and wonder.

So you see George, I have to be picky. I have to be prudent. Discernment is the path towards providence.

Thank you for reading.

---

All artwork provided by @muhammedsalah_