How I Want To Be Loved

The trip I didn’t want to happen: my friends and I had every intention of attending the inauguration of the first Black and South Asian woman to be President of the United States— but we all know how that went, and I won’t dwell on it. It didn’t happen, and that’s another kind of grief for a different day. 

I had a backup plan, and wheeew, did I need it. I googled “gay yoga retreat Mexico” and ended up finding one in Zipolite, Mexico, a sleepy nude beach town on the Oaxacan coast. I had heard about this town, as The Gays™ have discovered the free spirit nature (and scandalous activities on another side of the beach, but that’s not necessarily my draw or scene). 

Rolling into this retreat in January, I had just been dumped via text after five months together. We knew it wouldn’t be forever, but I certainly didn’t deserve that ending. I had also lost my grandpa after a sudden and brief illness— and I was lucky to spend the last week of his life by his side. To say I needed this escape is an understatement. 

I arrived a few days early and did exactly what I wanted to do: nothing. I lazed in a hammock by the beach and took myself out, limiting online time and just staring into the view; my brain tends to defragment that way. 

Fourteen fellow gays spent a week in community together, and the lessons I learned were profound. We came from all over, as far as Berlin and close as LA— and from all walks of life, although I couldn’t escape The Aviation Angle; my roommate was retired Delta management. Every morning, we met for a yoga practice and shared our current state. Angelos is classically trained, as it were, so there wasn’t pompous flow that you might find in a western, Americanized studio. On one hand, it took getting used to; but on the other, I appreciated the directness. 

Afternoon was our free time, some of the gals opting to stay in at the beautiful retreat center, others heading into Zipolite for some naked respite by the sea. I dabbled in both and was never bored— and I even let my buns see the sun, which was out of my comfort zone. It’s just a body, after all.

The evening called us in back to the same practice space, but this was specifically for movement and workshops. Some of the activities included touch and flirtation; some was just downright play time. While our community catches flack for our sexual liberation, this was purely sensual, which is an important distinction. During the workshops, we were implored to be open with our feelings and our hearts. What happens in the group stays in the group, but suffice it to say that emotions were pouring out, myself included. 

I opted for a sensual massage (again, sensual NOT sexual; there was no funny business!) by a very handsome man who just so happened to share the name of my ex. “Oh boy, here we go,” I thought when he introduced himself. It started out as any massage would, a full body workover and complete relaxation, although some of the movements were at the very least risqué, but never untoward. It wasn’t until I was on my back, though, that the magic started happening. He grabbed singing bowls and placed them around various parts of my body. After a few rounds of each bowl, I realized they were strategically placed near my chakras. An incredible sensation came over me, my body felt very heavy— and then, suddenly, light. He held a bowl over my heart and played. I started sobbing; I shuddered and writhed and released so much, but not everything. He hugged me at the end, and I felt like a wrung-out sponge, physically and emotionally.

It has been a few months, and I’ve thought a lot about the retreat since. It didn’t heal me completely, as no event ever could, but it did illuminate the ways in which I want to be loved. I saw examples of relationships that inspired me; personalities I adored; and a side of myself that even I don’t present often.

I know how I come off to the rest of the world, or at least online. I bring a jovial, irreverent energy— but there’s also a deeply serious, spiritual side that I keep close to the vest; I don’t want to be seen as just the court jester, only here for entertainment and laughs. I want my whole self to be seen, but especially by my partner. As I noted in a previous post, I’m not actively dating, but I’m taking this time to question what kind of partnership I want. And I very much do want partnership, someone to build a life with— I have since I came out many moons ago. My public non-negotiables are simple:

-I cannot and will not be home every night. If that’s something you need, I’m not for you.
-I do not want children, ever.
-I want a monogamy.

It feels nearly impossible, because the gays either want kids or an open relationship, or both. I have no moral qualms about it, it’s just not for me. Add in the physical compatibilities and the sheer number game, whew. It’s an uphill battle. But it exists somewhere. 

I might be an old soul, but my relationship experience is very limited. I’ve only had three, starting in my late 20s. I don’t feel like I have a deadline to meet, but I’m slowly preparing myself for something deep. I’d like to say I’m ready, and maybe nobody ever is, but I’ve called out to The Universe with specific manifestations; last fall, with dear friends by my side, I met the sea in a witchy ritual, and I recently came close to realizing damn near everything on the list. No, I won’t divulge the specifics, but some connections are sacred, even if fleeting. 

There’s endless advice on how to meet a partner. Look for it; don’t look for it; “It will happen when you least expect it!”; use the apps; find someone in real life. The thing is, dating nowadays is weird. I might be impatient, but I’m not trying to check a box. Whether you get set up by friends or someone slides in your DMs from the dark corners of the internet, I believe in fate due to my unrelenting romantic heart. It’s not the “how” it happens, so long as it does.

While I work on myself, more questions come up than answers. How do you go inward without shutting off the rest of the world? How do you keep an open heart when it has been disappointed time and time again? My friend Morgan offered some calming, heartfelt words: “Someone wants this just as bad as you do.” 

Whatever happened at that yoga retreat, it cracked open this big ol’ heart of mine. My heart is so big and full of love to give, but as it opens, I must be careful whom I let in— some are like vultures who can sense vulnerability and prey on it. It takes discernment to know who is real and who just using me for sport. I was proud to have made so many connections with fabulous guys, and I cherish our laughs and our tears. Thank you for making me feel so safe and revered, even since we parted. I walked away with a renewed sense of faith in our community, that aligned spirits will always find each other.

In her memoir Finding Me, Viola Davis talked about how she manifested her now husband. She got down on her knees and prayed— my process looks a little bit different, but the intent is all the same. I’m not sure when or how, but my love is out there. House, husband, dog is the mantra— whether it’s Tacoma or Tunisia, I would and could go to the ends of the earth for him.