"What do you mean?" he said, "You dither back and forth more than anyone I know."
"Maybe," I responded, "But once I've made a decision I move quickly to make it happen."
He made that hrmph noise in the back of his throat that I think means, "You're right but I don't want to actually say you're right."
I had decided to move. I was in the process of moving, and all those things you have to do to relocate yourself. Selling a place, purging old items, sorting out mail forwarding, trying to figure out where stuff is in the new neighborhood. I think I had been complaining about my real estate agent not being aggressive enough, which led to a conversation about the relative ease with which I make a decision.
I had decided to move -- to his condo. He didn't live there. He lived in a beautiful house with his partner and her child, somewhere in the same suburb. (To this day, I have no idea where exactly.) The reasons I gave were mostly convenience and financial. He was charging me a way-below-market rent. The place was smaller, easier to maintain. I wouldn't have to pay the crazy property taxes of my current town. I could save money, build my practice and travel.
That's not why I did it, though. Those were the surface reasons, and they all worked in favor of the undertow reason: I loved him, and I wanted to be closer to him in whatever way I could.
Another conversation, from when I was still dithering about the move:
"I'm just not sure it's the right decision."
"Why not?" he said. "You'll save money, you'll have a secure place to live, you can do all your dance things . . ."
"That's not what I'm worried about," I said. "I'm worried that if I move there -- into your space -- that I'll just stay hung up on you."
"Well, that would be alright with me."
And it must have been alright with me, too, because I went ahead and moved. Surface, undertow, and everything in between.
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