Walls and training wheels

A while ago I posted about a girl I met and the affect of this experience. I began to allow myself to feel things I hadn't in a long time. Things I've sealed away behind stone walls. I am usually a grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side person but when it comes to situations where I've experienced deep wounds, and dragged others through those dark times, I have had a very difficult time coming around to see greener grass.

There have been times I've gotten caught up in the moment and stood along those walls with a chisel in hand, and started to chip away. The experience, for sure, is a rush - exciting, exhilarating - like ripping down a trail while in some alternate state zone, seeing only what you need to see while everything else blurs by in the periphery. But just like the wet root, off camber rock, or tree trunk that leans just a little too far into the trail to send me over the bars, that rush comes with risk. (I also tend to feel I write better and am more creative when in that zone, so I apologize for the less than thrilling posts as of late.) I usually choose to forego the risk and enjoy a tolerable, but predominantly mediocre, existence when it comes to these matters.

Somewhere along the line I've convinced myself that this existence is better for everyone involved. But is it? Who is this everyone? Some have said they worry about me, while others, the opposite. You always hear you'll know when the time is right. Is there some flashing sign? The last time I thought I knew but was so obviously wrong because I ignored what I so terribly didn't want to acknowledge. And in doing so, I jeopardized and strained more than anyone ever should, but have been so very fortunate in the trueness of friends and family who've seen me through more than I care to admit. This is the everyone, those who I don't want to do that to again. I've proven, I think, that I can make it through but probably not alone. However, that last sentence makes me realize I am in a mentality of setting myself up for failure from the start. Perhaps that is how one knows when one is ready. For, as Lance Armstrong's said, if you are afraid of falling off, you will never get on the bike.

As of late, I've been thinking my inability to establish anything beyond platonic relationships with women stems from my inept social skills, or that every one I meet is either married or in a serious committed relationship, or that I've been out of the game so long I don't even know where to start. While I believe all of these and other excuses I could come up with hold some validity, the larger issue is that I am afraid of falling off the bike. Weird realization for someone who evades the situation by getting on a bike. Maybe it is time to get out the training wheels again, or find a nice grassy hill where the falls won't be so bad. Small failures are opportunities to learn, right? What have I learned so far? Time to get on a bike and figure it out.