I need some sugar in my bowl.
Word to Nina Simone.
I’ve known for a while now that I’m ready to fall in love again. Ready. I’ve never been prepared before. I’ve wanted love — craved it even. Ready is a new place.
It’s a bone feeling — a spiritual thing. I see it manifest around me like…
When I found myself dropping a tear at a Charlie Wilson show of all places, he invited the men to sing to their women in the middle of the show — a very Uncle Charlie thing to do. I can say that because I’ve seen him in concert more than a few times as recently as August 2021. Perhaps he’s done this at every show, and it didn’t hit the same for me, but this time I was a heart beating fast, smiling under my mask, a single tear into it. I had to laugh at my damn self.
Sugar. My bowl needs some sugar.
That’s part of what’s different this time around. I know what I need, which means I also know what I don’t need. This is a powerful place to find oneself. It’s also scary. If I accept any ole thing, it’s on me, and sometimes when enough time has passed, and it seems you’ll be in the love drought forever, it gets hard not to accept good enough and perhaps even less than that when the ground gets particularly dry. Add to all of this that I’m aging, and the circumstances of me loving someone and them loving me are simply in a different weight class than even five years ago.
I’ve known that I needed more for a while, but until we learn to trust the future, we’re always willing to accept temporary pleasure in the present. We’re human, after all — but the more I trust the lessons of my past, the reality of today, and believe that all of that is unfolding something truly remarkable, it gets a bit easier to say no to things that certainly will delight but distract.
A session with my therapist helped me fully see how I was denying my needs. I told her I had met an interesting man I thought had potential. After running down his vital stats — things I thought would impress her and prove my ability to attract the kind of man I was dreaming of she asked me a simple question. “Does he want to get married?” I looked at her puzzled, “I don’t know. We just met.” She laughed, “Candice, you just told me half this man’s life story but the thing that matters for what you want you didn’t bother to ask?” I don’t lie to her (that would be a waste of money). “I’m scared to ask. What if he doesn’t want that.” As soon as it came out of my mouth, I heard it. She knew I heard it. We laughed. “You’ve made it clear that you don’t have time to waste, and I agree. If your goal were to date casually, I’d say date everyone, but you know you want more. You know you’re ready. You’ll save yourself time and heartache by being clear. Wouldn’t it be nice not to have to wade through someone else’s indecision? Will every man you meet that wants to get married be for you? Of course not, but the ones that don’t desire commitment aren’t for you.”
These kinds of conversations. This kind of work is what has helped me see clearly what I want and to not allow fear to scare me from admitting this truth. We live in a cynical world — where strength is seldom assigned to feats of vulnerability or reverence of love. This makes us all less likely to say what we need.
I am ready for love.
This is why seeing those couples displaying their love loudly and proudly was so touching. I’m ready for the whole show. I’m deserving of the whole show. Which means saying no to partial displays, stagnate energy, and people who aren’t ready for my brand of love.
You can’t claim the things you’re unable to name. That’s why I’m writing this loudly.
Dear universe, I’m ready.
My heart is yearning.
Word to Uncle Charlie.