Touch me again

Oh to know what I know now way back in 1991. I felt so old then, even though I was not yet 30. But already I was out of the dance club and into . . . what exactly? Certainly not the streets. Hibernation maybe. Escape. Transitions.

A year or so after meeting my friend S., a friend I've now had for nearly 30 years. Several months before leaving Washington and only once creeping back to live in its shadow again. Two years before graduate school. Two years before meeting G. Four years before moving to Texas, which feels like home to me and perhaps always will. Thirteen years before leaving Texas and moving back east. Twenty-two years before meeting Cairo. Twenty-four years before moving to Canada. Twenty-six years before now.

Oddly, I've written about this some before. This little fluffy pop tune that somehow captures my hope and longing, my regret and sorrow.

Some moments during the previous 26 years have been, frankly, terrible, including this last week or so. And then other moments have been spectacular, such as living with Cairo and talking to him this week, during one of my sadder, more frustrated, more anxious times.

My father's passing. But my mother still lives and is as vibrant as ever.

I still loathe my job and am wary of my colleagues. And yet I had probably the most successful week I've had since arriving in Canada two-and-a-half years ago, have a great staff and supportive bosses.

One of the biggest reveals this week was that once my anxiety and stress subsided, I realized that I had actually had a good week, at least professionally speaking. The anxiety has been too much of late, but I'm actually doing OK.

Would I go back in time? Would I do anything differently? Maybe or maybe not.

Except maybe . . . I'd dance more, even past the age of 30. To hear that piano again, those drums, that whistle, that call to "hold me baby/drive me crazy/touch me/all night long." To put aside the fears imagined and real, to trust in myself, to take a moment, to enjoy, to cavort, to laugh, to be carefree, sans souçi, to grab life and run with it. That I would do, at least for one night, return to the scene and dance, dance, dance away the heartache, dance away the tears.

But then I'd hurry right back to the present to savor what I have now, the good and the bad, and look forward to a better tomorrow, week, month, and year ahead.

Touch me

Cathy Dennis-Touch Me(All Night Long) by val6210

Not quite sure why, but I've been having some serious flashbacks to circa 1990 (1989? 1991?) in the form of this video by Cathy Dennis for "(Touch Me) All Night Long."

Perhaps it's because it's around the time I moved out of Washington, D.C., and started the "great adventure" that has become my adult life: A return to North Carolina, a relationship, graduate school, a new career, a move to Texas, alleged success in that career, and a move to Pennsylvania for a new job and then another job in Pittsburgh. And then another.

Suddenly 23 years have passed by. Then I was not only moving geographically but also chronologically, psychologically, from my late 20s into adulthood. Now I find myself . . . where exactly? Smack in the middle of middle age . . . or at the end of it? Oddly, I feel that a simple song and video from 1991 represents that transition, from youth to adulthood, from a certain innocence and carefree attitude to . . . this: A career that feels like it has stalled in a city that I don't get or enjoy, five+ hours away from the man I love, working like a water buffalo in a field I find somewhat uninspiring, not having a lot of fun at the moment, not sure how to have more, surrounded by a couple of people I like and respect, but many more than I don't.

I'm not sure how to get out of this space. Therapy helps, as has a prescription to Wellbutrin. And a terrific boyfriend, a supportive family, and one or two sympathetic friends and colleagues.

But I'm still here and don't know how to get out.

Mind you, I don't want to get out "permanently." I just want to move on the next phase of my life, but I want to do so in a way that offers more satisfaction and happiness, that shows progress. No frying pan to the fire for me, please. I've done that too often in life.

The thing is, to move ahead, I have to move into the unknown. I have to take some chances. That seemed fine to do in my 20s and my 30s, even into my 40s. But now, in my early 50s, there are only so many chances left to take. Or so it feels. Any bad chance taken could result in serious problems, grievous harm, both financially and personally. And there's only so much time left to fix mistakes like that. Or so it feels.

I feel all my indecision and dithering is causing life to pass me by. And funny thing is, I felt that the first time I saw Cathy Dennis's video for "(Touch Me) All Night Long." I was all of 29 then, in a bar I almost never went to on P Street in Dupont Circle, having a beer, trying to meet guys, and waiting for something to happen in my life. I was then dithering over leaving D.C. and trying to figure out the next direction to move into. When I saw that video, I realized at that moment that club music and youth culture had changed, but I had been too busy with work and life to notice. I once again was not having any fun.

So what's the lesson here? More drinking? More bars? More fun? (Definitely to the latter.) And perhaps taking some chances, walking into the fog, being uncomfortable for a while, but having the hope and perseverance that I'll come out on the other side, fairly unscathed and maybe even better for it.

Not unlike when I left Washington. I didn't know exactly where I was going. Actually, come to think of, I was heading toward San Francisco. I had been thinking about graduate school, but I wasn't sure whether it would be in history or librarianship. I didn't have a source of income, just a little money put aside and an offer to come home for a while and figure things out.

In the end, everything worked out fine, or at least the way it should. Nevertheless, I'm just not sure I have that kind of confidence, ignorance, or blind faith to go anywhere at the moment.

And yet I feel my happiness and satisfaction in life depends on my doing so.